Dominated Hand
by smc-27
Summary: He doesn't expect Rachel to be good at poker, and there's no way he's going to let her beat him. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to play. "Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This will be roughly 7-8 chapters. Written from yet another prompt Melissa/Cheapen left me. She's fantastic and deserves all the credit for the storyline.

.....

It's not very often (never) that Puck has an entire house to himself for more than like, a couple hours. Not only does this suck for general sexin' (which is usually his main concern) but it also means he can't throw the kind of party that everyone knows the Puckerone is capable of throwing.

So when his mom tells him she's going to Cinci to visit his aunt (who's fuckin' nuts and has like, framed pictures of her cats all through her house and a plastic cover on her couch), Puck is pretty stoked. Even more when she says she's taking Hannah.

When she tells him that she doesn't want him to miss a whole Friday of school, so he can stay alone?

Well, shit. That's like, the jackpot right there.

The school year is almost over, and the weather has been super nice, so he's been working on getting their pool all clean and ready for the summer. It's a little cool for that yet, but he figures that if any girls want to hop in at this fucking epic party he's gonna throw, he's not going to stop them. Nope.

He's pretty sure this is going to be the most awesome party in the history of his time at McKinley. People are going to talk about this for months. And he's only a junior, so it'll be even more epic, outshining the seniors and their lame parties. (Seriously, lame. A 24 and a COD3 tournament is not a party, guys.)

He tells Finn first, then Mike and Matt, and they're all on board. Matt's older brother is totally awesome and doesn't have a problem buying them alcohol as long as they give him cash and a little extra for his trouble. Whatever. Slipping the dude $5 for walking into the grocery store is fine, Puck supposes.

Quinn, Santana and Brittany are next, just because he sees them next. Actually, they walk up while he's talking to the guys. Finn and Quinn are back together after her brief interlude with Puck after last year's Sorry, Puck's Baby, Not Yours. Santana and Brittany are...well, they're Santana and Brittany.

So his core group of friends know, and he doesn't spread it around too much other than that, because if people start talking too much, it'll be huge and get back to his mom or something.

But the groundwork is laid. If Finn, Matt and Mike and three of the Cheerios are there, Puck knows people will show. As if they wouldn't anyway.

But then two days before she goes away, his mom is talking his ear off about fucking bullshit. Like, honestly. He can feed himself without her help. He's a total master in the kitchen. She knows this. He doesn't know why she insists on telling him what's in the freezer. He has eyes. He can look. But whatever. That's not the worst part.

"Noah, please be careful. And don't do anything stupid. I don't mind if you have a couple friends over, but I _will_ know if you have a party, and you _will_ be grounded for the entire summer. And I mean no video games, no friends, no camping trip with Finn."

Fuck.

"Are you serious?" he asks. He knows she is, but, you know, just to be clear...

"I am serious. Mrs. Levitz is keeping an eye on the house. She'll report back to me," she says. She starts walking away, back into the kitchen to finish the dishes or whatever.

"Hold up!" he calls after her. She stops and turns back around. "How many friends do you consider 'a couple'?"

She laughs and shakes her head. "10," she says seriously. "10 friends." He thinks about it. How the hell is he going to pick 10 people to invite? "Although it would be nice if you just invited your friends from glee club over."

"Are you kidding me? Those losers can't come here!" he cries, getting up off the couch and walking toward her. "Mom, seriously."

"Well, you don't have to have them. You don't have to have anyone, actually."

He knows an ultimatum when he hears one.

So that's how he finds himself shuffling into glee rehearsal and telling everyone to come to his place on Saturday night and bring whatever they want to eat or drink because he's not fucking supplying that shit.

And who knows? It _could_ be fun. Right?

Oh, god. This is going to suck _so hard._

.....

The Thursday night his mom and sister leave, he waves from the front door as they drive away, then promptly cranks some of the offensive rap that his mom hates, grabs a bag of chips and one of the beers she doesn't know he keeps in the back of the fridge in the garage, and turns on a baseball game.

This is the fucking _life_.

.....

Friday at school, all the glee kids are talking about the gathering at his place.

All the kids but Rachel.

He can't have that. He and Rachel aren't best friends - aren't really friends at all, except for a couple times he actually like, told her shit - but she's invited or whatever, and he's not a dick like the rest of the club. They don't invite her anywhere. Or they do, then not-so-subtly hint that she's really not that welcome. He thinks that's pretty shitty of them, even if she does drive people a little crazy and talk too much and critique absolutely every note everyone sings. That doesn't mean she deserves to be treated like shit.

So he walks up to her before glee rehearsal starts and she's shuffling through her papers looking for the right song.

"Hey," he says.

"Good afternoon, Noah."

"Yeah, look," he says, before she can start babbling about something (it just happens; sometimes he thinks she doesn't even mean to talk, she just doesn't know how _not_ to talk). "You coming to my place tomorrow night?"

She looks up at him, then, and she's genuinely surprise. He's inviting her again? No one ever reminds her of their gatherings, unless it's to list a bevy of reasons why she wouldn't have fun at them. (And no, she's not naive enough to think that doesn't mean they just don't want her there.)

"Oh, I have...I hadn't decided," she says, because telling him she's going to dinner and a movie with her fathers, she's sure would only encourage ridicule. "I'm sure no one wants me there anyway."

She says it under her breath and he rolls his eyes. It's a wonder the girl has any confidence at all.

"Fuck it. I do," he says. He's not really sure why, but he thinks it's the truth anyway. "So come. People are showing up around 8:00 or whatever."

She's a little too shocked to do anything more than nod.

.....

So by 10:00, Puck's actually starting to think this 'party' might not actually be so lame after all. Matt's bro came through on some beer and liquor, and Santana brought her own vodka for herself and Brittany. Finn and Quinn brought a few bags of chips, and Kurt made some (fucking delicious) dip concoction. Mercedes brought non alcoholic drinks (aka: mix) and Tina and Artie made cookies together (of course they did).

Puck is currently on his second Jack on the rocks.

Not a bad start to the evening.

Finn and Matt are currently sipping beers and attempting to teach Kurt the ins and outs of Gran Tourismo, which Puck is finding absolutely hilarious. Video games aren't exactly Kurt's thing, but Finn is (ha!) so he's attempting. Puck laughs every time Kurt runs into the wall and throws his hands up in frustration. Mike is talking (and demonstrating) dance moves in the kitchen with Brittany and Santana, dancing along to one of the mixed CDs someone brought. Puck asks and finds out that almost everyone brought their own mix, which is pretty fucking cool, actually, and Puck's pretty sure all those are going to get left behind. Sweet. New music.

By 11:00, he's wondering where Rachel is. She said she'd come, didn't she?

He hopes one of the glee douches (okay, Mercedes or Kurt) didn't get to her and tell her she shouldn't come or something stupid like that. He doesn't know why he cares so much, but it's weird, having a glee gathering without her there. It feels wrong. Probably because she's, like, the musical glue that holds them together. And holy shit, did he actually just think that?

Time for more booze.

He doesn't know who suggests it, but the poker set comes out (and Puck has an awesome one he got for his birthday last year, clay chips and all) and the guys sit around the kitchen table. It's just Puck, Mike, Matt, Finn and Artie playing. But Tina's on Artie's lap, Quinn is on Finn's, and Santana and Brittany are sitting, sharing a chair, between Mike and Matt. (Puck has it on good authority that Santana's been trying to set up some kinky foursome between those guys and she and Britt, so he sends her a smirk and a raised brow and she winks back at him.)

Quinn is 'helping' Finn, which just means that she's whispering in his ear, asking him questions, and he's trying to basically tell her to fuck off without actually telling her to fuck off. Girl doesn't know anything about poker. Finn is garbage anyway, so it's not like she's going to make him any worse. Mike and Matt are both pretty good, since they're the guys he normally plays with, and Artie is surprisingly aggressive, but not in a stupid way. He just bluffs really well and takes a couple hands because of that. Literally, once he has a pair of twos but takes all the chips anyway, just because he makes it seem like he's got some epic hand. Puck's going to have to keep his eye out for that guy.

Because losing a poker game at his own house? Well, that is just not happening.

When Rachel walks into the kitchen, it's about 11:30 and she's wearing denim shorts and a flowy grey tank top that looks super hot on her. Puck's a dude. He notices these things.

Everyone (well, except the people who are driving) has had enough to drink that they're all pretty happy and greet her warmly when she walks over and stands next to Kurt at the counter in the kitchen.

"Thanks for showin' up," Puck says, sipping his drink. "You decided to grace us with your presence, huh?"

She rolls her eyes at him in a totally playful way. "I had plans. I said I'd come. Are you playing Texas Hold 'Em?" she asks.

"Clearly," Puck mumbles.

"Take my spot," Artie says. "I have to be home by midnight. Tina's got to drive me."

Finn laughs. "Rachel, do you even know how to play?"

The rest of the guys chuckle to themselves as Rachel pulls up a chair and Artie moves out of the way. "How hard can it be, right? Daddy watches it on television and I've seen it a couple games," she says, shrugging one shoulder.

Mike is practically laughing as he deals. Matt looks at Puck, who looks at Rachel. "You sure?" Puck asks. "Wouldn't want to send you home crying or something. It's not that easy to just play."

There's something in her eyes when she answers him. "I'm sure I'll be fine. I do tend to excel at the things I attempt."

"Suit yourself," he says.

They get a little distracted because Kurt fixes Rachel a martini that she doesn't really want, and she argues with him that she has to drive, but he tells her that one drink won't hurt if she's sticking around for a while. Mike and Matt both get up to get more beers and Brittany and Santana do a bang up job of distracting them.

"Hey!" Puck calls. "You girls wanna fuckin' get back over here and play? And I'm not talking about Britt and San."

There's eye rolling and grumbling and name-calling, and Rachel finds herself smiling, because she thinks that this party is actually quite fun, even if she did show up late and miss most of Artie and Tina's stay. Kurt is being nice to her, and while she knows that's because he's three sheets to the wind, she isn't going to complain. Mercedes appears to be having a good enough time that she's not bothering to be snarky to Rachel. Finn and Quinn are sickeningly cute, like they always are, and that stopped bothering her sometime last summer after the two got together again. She and Finn are still close friends, and she and Quinn are actually closer now, too. They've hung out after school a couple times, and they've eaten lunch together. Not that Quinn would admit that to anyone. Rachel still knows it happened.

"I call," Rachel says once they're focused on the game again.

"Hang on there, champ," Puck says laughingly. "Wait your turn."

"Oh." She bites her lip in embarrassment. "Sorry. I got excited."

Puck cocks his brow as she looks at him. "How excited?"

"Stop it," she says, reaching over to hit his arm.

He likes this relaxed Rachel.

They play the hand and Mike wins, which leaves Finn with not so many chips, Mike with plenty, Matt with a good amount, Puck with most (yes), and Rachel with her inherited pile from Artie, who was a close second to Puck.

Puck wins the next hand after a cute (no..._silly_) debate with Rachel over big blinds and small blinds, even though she ends up with two jacks, ace high. He has two queens, then picks up another on the river.

"Guys, I'm losing so hard," Finn announces with a laugh. He's got just a little stack of chips in front of him. "And we've gotta go as soon as I'm out."

"So soon?" Rachel asks, sipping her martini. Puck definitely does not (totally does) think she looks sexy doing it.

"Well, not everyone shows up at 11:30, Rach," Finn teases, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"Dude, just go all in," Mike says as they start the next hand. Finn shrugs his shoulder and pushes his chips to the middle of the table, and everyone oo-s and aa-s like it's some huge tournament.

No one else notices, because they aren't paying attention, but Puck watches Rachel's little hand, the chips she's holding. She flips them in her hand like a pro, like someone who's actually good at playing poker. And the thing that really pisses him off is that he's been trying to perfect this trick forever, the one where you have two chips and you flip one over the other and it's totally awesome. She's doing it over and over without even looking at her hand. No one can do chip tricks unless they actually play poker. Why else would she learn how to do that? And there's this little look on her face that he swears is straight up devious.

He has a feeling they're all about to get played.

And yet he's still surprised when she bluffs like a fucking champ and the pot grows and she takes the hand with nothing but a pair of sixes.

Everyone's looking at her as she sweeps the chips towards her. "What?" she asks. "I got lucky."

"Uh, _no_," Mike laughs. "You just fucking sharked us."

"Actually, the term card sharp is seen as more negative, while card shark carries a more positive connotation. They're frequently misused," she says. "I suppose it just depends on how you meant that. I assume, since I just took your chips, that you meant it negatively."

Rachel Berry. Dropping knowledge about poker.

What kind of world is Puck living in where this is normal?

Finn and Quinn leave for the evening, and everyone says goodbye and waves and whatever, and then Santana and Brittany decide they both want in on the game, that they've watched enough and want to play. Matt and Mike decide to help them, so Puck deals the girls in and tries really hard to be patient as they learn the game.

And it is totally, completely, undeniably sexy that Rachel is good at poker. Even Santana admits it.

"What the fuck?" he asks after Rachel has swept three hands in a row. "How'd you learn to play like that?"

She gets this wicked little smile on her face as she deals. "It's a long story involving Matt Damon and Edward Norton and my love of both of them."

The guys at the table look at one another then back at her. Matt is the most curious, apparently. "What? That sounds like a story that needs to be told."

Rachel smiles and sets the cards on the table. She's a little surprised at how she has the attention of everyone in the room. This rarely happens, unless she's singing (and even then, sometimes it doesn't happen).

"Well, I fell for Matt Damon when I saw Good Will Hunting. And that's just such a brilliant film that...well, that's a conversation for another day," she says, and the girls all nod. The guys are all WTF because honestly? _What the fuck_? "And so then I found myself watching any Matt Damon movie I could find. He really is quite talented. I had known Edward Norton from a couple of his smaller roles." Puck is looking right at her, and she doesn't break eye contact. "And then I saw Rounders."

"Kick ass movie," Mike says before taking a sip of his beer.

"Isn't it?" Rachel says, looking at him with a smile on her face. "It's amazing. And they make the game sound so intricate, and intelligent, and full of nuances and strategy." Puck? Puck's pretty sure she's never been hotter than she is right now. "So naturally, I decided I needed to learn everything I could about the game and become a master."

Mike laughs and picks up his cards. "So you learned to play poker because you had crushes on two actors?"

Rachel shrugs her shoulders. "I suppose if you want to put it that way."

"Well, shit," Puck says, taking a swig of his drink. "Next you're gonna be talking about how you think Fight Club is a masterpiece."

Her eyes light up as she looks at him. "It _is_ a masterpiece!"

Where has she been all his life?

After two more hands, Puck decides they need to up the stakes. Especially since Brittany and Santana are fucking terrible.

"We gotta make this more interesting," he says after Mercedes and Kurt leave. It's just the six of them at the table, three guys and three girls.

"How do you mean? You want to play for actual money?" Rachel asks. He's distracted by the fact that she seems kind of excited by that.

But he shakes his head. "Nope."

Mike and Matt both laugh and Santana rolls her eyes. Brittany's stacking her chips to look like a bunny or some shit.

"What?" Rachel asks worriedly.

"How about if I win the next hand, you have to kiss Santana," Puck says, looking at Rachel. Her eyes go wide and she starts shaking her head and starts stacking her chips. "Come on, Rach. It'll be fun."

"Yes, for _you_, you...you...horny teenaged boy!" she cries. He just laughs.

"All you have to do is make sure I don't win, then," he says, kinking his brow.

She's sitting right next to him, Santana on her other side. She should not let herself be pressured into this. But really, she's having so much fun. And she's confident in her sexuality. There's nothing wrong with two girls kissing. Santana and Brittany demonstrate that on a regular basis. And she's certainly open to all kinds of relationships. Sure, she's strictly heterosexual and she knows that about herself, but there's no shame in kissing another girl.

She looks to Santana, who just shrugs her shoulder. "Fine," Rachel says, looking back over at Puck, who appears to be impressed. "But if I win, you have to kiss Matt."

"What?" Matt yells.

"Fuck no," Puck says, shaking his head.

"It's only fair," Santana insists, which makes both guys glare at her. "Just make sure she doesn't win."

Rachel smiles. She and Santana have never really been friends, but this certainly seems like they might be on that track.

"I hate you right now," Puck mumbles as he starts dealing.

When Rachel gets a seven/two off suit, she knows she's going to lose. This is the worst hand possible. She's really hoping someone will help her out so Puck doesn't win, but she's fairly certain that Matt and Mike are blowing this hand on purpose. Mike folded already and Matt is a terrible bluffer, so she knows he's got absolutely nothing. Brittany and Santana are just terrible (she'd like to teach them to avoid this situation in the future).

Sure enough, when she's forced to fold, Puck gets this ridiculously triumphant look on his face.

Honestly, he's just gotten Rachel to agree to kiss Santana. This is like, one of his fantasies come to life. He plays this hand so well that he could be on the goddamn pro tour. Turns out that when the stakes are high, Puck comes to _play_.

He manages a flush with help from the turn, and once the cards are all down, he sits back and crosses his arms, smirking smugly.

"This is completely unfair," Rachel says. "I wish I had proof that you dealt from the bottom of the deck."

"I didn't," Puck laughs.

"I'm sure you cheated _somehow_," she says viciously.

"Whatever, babe. Pucker up. And not just a little peck. It's gotta be ten seconds at least," he says. Matt and Mike nod in agreement.

"This is ridiculous," Rachel hisses.

But then she turns to Santana, who looks somehow both bored and amused at the same time. Rachel rests her hand on Santana's shoulder, and Santana slips hers into Rachel's hair, and then they're kissing and it's not so bad, really. Santana tastes like some fruity drink and blueberry lip gloss, and her lips are really quite soft compared to any boy Rachel has kissed.

Including Puck, whose lips were like wonderful little pillows.

(Did she really just think that?)

Puck is kind of transfixed by the sight before him, which is so fucking hot he can hardly stand it. Two of his ex-girlfriends making out (not really; whatever) in front of him. And they're like, _giggling_ together and shit, and when Santana goes back in after the ten seconds are over and kisses Rachel a little more (for another good [fucking awesome] couple seconds) Puck is sure this party is honestly the best one he's ever been to.

"Happy?" Rachel asks as she turns back to him, _licking her lips_.

Jesus Christ. Totally.

"Uh huh," Puck mumbles. Matt and Mike simultaneously shift in their seats. "Now that I know you're game for making this shit interesting..."

"Noah, really, this is..."

"Strip," Puck says simply. Rachel's eyes go wide again.

"I'm game," Santana says, shrugging her shoulder.

"Whatever," Matt mumbles.

Rachel looks disgusted.

She _is _disgusted. "Absolutely not!" she says firmly.

Puck looks to the mountain of chips sitting in front of her. "Scared I'll win?" he asks.

"Absolutely _not_," she repeats, looking right at him.

"Look, you're awesome. You're, unfortunately, not gonna have to take anything off, probably. It'll just be more fun," Puck explains. "C'mon. I'm peer pressuring you. Just give in."

She actually laughs and does that chip trick again that kinda makes him want to throw her down on the table. (What? It's totally hot.) She looks at Brittany, who just smiles and shrugs one shoulder. Santana's smiling at her and Matt and Mike are looking at her expectantly.

And really, she's fairly certain she can knock Brittany and Santana out in a hand or two. Matt and Mike will be easy enough after that. Her only competition is Puck, and given that it's nearing 1:00, he'll probably ask her to leave before she even has to take off anything more than one of her sandals or her necklace.

"I'm in," she says, and she thinks Puck's smile is maybe just a little too wide.

Puck regrets this immediately when Rachel goes on a tear, winning another two hands. The guys are shirtless, and Brittany and Santana both bitched out and took off lame articles (a bracelet for Britt, a belt for San). It's pretty lame. The dudes are not supposed to be the nearly naked ones here. That's just fucking _wrong_.

When Puck finally wins a hand, Rachel rolls her eyes and slips off her sandals. Puck tries to argue and tell her that doesn't count, but she reminds him that Brittany has only taken off jewelry thus far, so he can't really make a case.

When Santana takes off her top, things get mildly more interesting.

Then, somehow, Rachel knocks Mike and Brittany out in the same hand. Puck tries to figure out how she did that. It's totally not right how good she is.

He wants to see some skin.

He's down to his jeans (belt-less, socks-less, bracelet-less) and Rachel's still wearing her shirt and shorts when Mike and Matt decide they have to go and Brittany and Santana go with them. Brittany's driving, since she's the only one who hasn't been drinking.

Rachel gets up from her seat.

"Whoa," Puck says, tugging on her hand, stopping her from walking away. "Where do you think you're going?"

She looks at him like he's crazy and everyone else hangs around to see what's going to happen. "I thought I'd go. It's late, and..."

"You got a curfew?"

"No, I don't have a curfew, but I'm sure your mother wouldn't be pleased to know you had a girl alone at your house," she says. For some reason, everyone else laughs at that.

"Have you _met_ me?" Puck asks with a laugh. "We've got a game to finish here. Bragging rights, you know?"

Rachel opens and closes her mouth a couple times, like she wants to say something but can't.

"Relax," Santana says as she pulls her shirt back on. "He's not as much of an ass as everyone thinks. You're safe."

For whatever reason, that actually makes Rachel feel better. It's close to two am, and her fathers told her to just stay over (yes, they knew this party was taking place at a boy's house) if she drank anything. They're pretty lenient. And she does trust Puck, maybe against her will, but she does. She knows he'd never do anything to hurt her.

Well, anymore.

"Fine," Rachel says. She rests both hands on the table as she stands across from Puck. "I guess I can stay long enough to kick your sorry behind."

"Oh!" Mike cries. "She's breaking out trash talk now!"

"_Lame_ trash talk," Puck says.

She raises her brow at him. God, that's hot, too. "Need I remind you that one of us is still fully clothed and the other isn't?"

Matt chuckles a little and Santana is eagerly awaiting Puck's response to that statement.

"Okay. We're upping the ante," Puck says.

"What does that mean?" Rachel asks warily.

"Slave for a week. Whoever loses has to be the other's slave."

Rachel scoffs and shakes her head. "I don't think so. First strip poker and now this? _No_."

"What?" Puck asks, standing and setting his hands on the table, mimicking her. Mike and Matt look at one another, then back to the table. "Scared you'll lose?"

She should not let him get away with using this tactic twice in one night, but she can't help it. He's appealing to her competitive side (which might just be quite big) and she can't back down.

"Deal the cards," she says as she sits down. He pulls his shirt back on and thinks he should have left it off. Distraction or whatever.

They say their goodbyes to the other four as they leave, and Puck is already shuffling the deck. The house seems a lot quieter as soon as she hears the click of the front door, and she wonders what she's gotten herself into.

Slave for a week? All she's getting in her head are images of him 'forcing' her into depraved acts. Most of them are sexual.

So why did she say yes? And why is she still sitting here? And why does she smile at him from across the table?

"I won't make you do anything sick," he tells her. "Don't worry."

It's meant to be a taunt, she knows, but the look in his eyes tells her it's also the truth.

"How generous," she says. "And I've really been searching hard for a partner for my ballroom class. Your frame, I'm sure, would be terrible, but it'd be better than dancing with Mr. Schoenfeld, who smells like scotch mints and moth balls."

The look on his face is priceless. She almost cracks a smile when she sees that she's got pocket kings, but she knows she can't give herself away.

"Dancing? Really?"

"That's just one thing I can think of off the top of my head," she insists. "I'm sure there is plenty I can find for you to do."

"Yeah, well, my room's pretty disgusting right now. Hasn't been cleaned in about a year. I'm sure you wouldn't mind."

She's wishing they were playing heads up. Why aren't they, actually?

"Alright, enough of this. Burn and turn," she says seriously, eyes narrowed at him across the table.

She's worried momentarily, because something flashes across his face, but then he checks and she calls, and he's too stubborn not to match her.

That just makes it sweeter when she wins the hand. His stack of chips has a considerable dent in it.

They trade wins, not talking much as Rachel munches on pretzels and he sips another drink. He's not drunk, which he's pretty thankful for, because he needs to be at the top of his game so he can win this shit.

He _cannot_ lose to Rachel Berry. He can't.

"Fuck this," he says, slamming his glass down on the table. "Heads up play. Winner take all."

The smile she gives him should not make his pants tight. This? This poker playing, competitive, do anything for a victory, Fight Club loving Rachel Berry? God, she might be his perfect woman.

"I thought you'd never ask," she says as she shuffles the deck and starts to deal without ever breaking eye contact.

This _can't_ be the same girl he sees every day at school. It can't.

She's disappointed when she draws a seven/nine off suit. But it's not the worst thing she could have gotten, that's for sure. She draws an eight and a jack on the flop, so she thinks she might just have a chance at winning, though she knows the odds are certainly against her.

And she honestly does not know what horrible things she'll have to do for him. She's sure it'll be worse than just cleaning his room. Actually, that doesn't sound that bad at all. She can think of worse things he could suggest.

Oh, god. Now she's thinking of all the horrible things he could suggest.

"Alright," he says. "Show."

She gnaws at her lip knowing that if he has anything, he's won. And the way he's looking at her, she knows he has.

"Of course," she pouts as she turns her cards over. "The one hand I have nothing is this one." He smiles at her and sits back in his chair. "Well? What do you have?"

He lays his cards on the table. "Full house. Jacks over sixes."

She lets out this frustrated little growl that he shouldn't find cute, and stands from her place. "This is so unfair! I won more hands overall than you did! This is pure bad luck! _And_ I had to kiss Santana!"

"Oh, I remember," he says gruffly. When she turns to him, she's absolutely glaring, and he just knocks back the last of his drink. "Gotta tell you, Rach. You were a lot of fun tonight."

"This is the worst night of my life!" she cries, throwing her hands in the air. "Granted, kissing Santana wasn't exactly torture, since it's just a kiss and she's got lovely lips, don't you think?" He's just looking at her, thinking about what she's just said, and all he can think about is some fucked up (amazing) threesome, but then she starts talking again. "And now I have to be your slave for a week? This is absolutely ridiculous!"

"Hey," he says, trying not to laugh at her. "I was trying to give you a compliment."

She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. "I know. And thank you. I did have a good time. Actually, this was much more fun than I even thought it was going to be," she admits. "Thank you for having me."

His dirty mind is taking that in a way he's pretty sure she'd slap him for.

(He really wants to _have_ her. He's very aware they're in his house alone.)

(And she has no curfew.)

(And he's half-hard. _Dammit_.)

"I should be going," she says. She doesn't know why he's looking at her that way, but it's making her feel...something.

"Not so fast," he says, reaching for her wrist. "You think this mess is gonna clean itself up?" They look around the kitchen at the same time, note the mess of empty bottles and cups on the counter, the table, still covered in cards and poker chips, the bowls of potato chips spread throughout the room. "You got this, yeah? Lock up when you leave."

She's just staring at him. It's nearing 3:00 in the morning and he's telling her to clean his house.

"You can't be serious."

"Sure I am, _slave_," he says. He has the gall to wink at her. "'Night!"

He walks out of the room (he's pretty sure he should get a medal for that shit, for not at least _trying_ to have sex with her tonight) and towards the stairs and he can hear her muttering to herself under her breath.

He's pretty happy he doesn't have to clean up, though.

As soon as he's got his bedroom door closed behind him, he pulls off his shirt and steps out of his pants and boxers. Tonight has been surprisingly awesome, made more awesome by the fact that Rachel's totally hot (he doesn't know how she hides that so well) and kissed Santana without much of a fight. And actually, he's pretty sure she liked it. So he fists his length in his hand and can't help how hard he gets when he thinks about Rachel being just however many feet away, cleaning his house for him. He comes hard when he hears her singing in the kitchen. (He's not even _thinking_ about her kissing Santana.)

Good god, what's happening to him?

It takes Rachel about an hour to clean the kitchen and living room, and she does it well. She does not do anything halfway. And she figures the only way this 'slave' thing is going to be tolerable for her is if she does things right. She doesn't need him jumping down her throat and critiquing her for how she does things.

She takes the empties outside and, instead of leaving them in the garage for his mother to potentially find, she drops them into the back of his truck. Once she's wiped down the counters and placed the bowls and cups in the dishwasher, she finds a piece of paper and a pen and writes him a note. She tells him to take the empties to the recycling center. She reminds him to turn on the dishwasher.

She writes her phone number at the bottom of the page after her name.

She doesn't know why she does that. She's going to blame exhaustion.


	2. Chapter 2

Puck wakes up to sunshine and fuckin' birds chirping and realizes that it's nearly noon and he's already thinking about what he can make Rachel do for him today. He wants to get the really obvious stuff out of the way before his mom comes back and asks him why he's making this poor girl do. And his mother would undoubtedly put a stop to the whole slave thing if she knew what was going on.

And his truck has been pretty disgusting lately. He and Finn went mudding (sorta...) a couple weeks ago and Puck thought it was way too badass to have mud caked onto his truck. But now that he doesn't have to clean it himself...

He jumps into the shower and thinks about how the night turned out, how it went from everyone having a good time, to everyone having a great time, to Rachel and Santana kissing, to strip poker, to he and Rachel going head to head in a serious poker battle.

And he remembers how she'd run her hands through her hair as he dealt and how good she looked in that low-cut tank top. How her fucking _awesome_ ass was barely covered by her shorts. How she'd grin at him across the table if they were both out and everyone else was playing. How hot she sounded when she was talking about the game.

Groaning, he realizes how hard he is again, and he's pretty sure this, thinking about Rachel this way, is becoming a problem.

.....

Rachel is sitting at her kitchen table, eating a light lunch while her fathers work outside on the garden they keep up every summer, and her phone rings. It's an unknown number.

She knows who it is anyway. She's scared to answer, but she finds herself doing it anyway.

"Hello?"

"'Sup, girl?"

"Noah, I hardly think that's an appropriate way to address someone on the phone," she says as she sets her plate in the sink.

"How come? You _are_ a girl aren't you?" he asks. She can hear him grinning, picture him in his house. "I mean, that shirt you were rocking last night certainly proved it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Boobs, Rach. You got 'em," he says, as though she didn't just understand every word he'd implied.

"Is there something you need from me?" she asks in frustration. "And please refrain from making a sexual comment."

Something about her saying the word 'sexual' gets him totally hot.

"Come over," he says. She lets out a huff. "My truck needs to be washed."

"That's it?" she asks. "You want me to wash your truck?"

"Yup."

"Your truck is disgusting."

"Which is why it needs washing. Try'n keep up, babe," he says, smirking to himself. She really is far too easy to tease. "And wear something hot, too. It's like, a million degrees out. I'm thinking bikini."

She's appalled. She did not agree to be his eye candy. Slave is one thing (not a good thing), but to prance around in a bikini and wash his truck?

"Look, Noah, I am not some kind of...of..._fantasy_ girl who's merely around for your pleasure!"

"Too bad," he murmurs darkly.

"Stop that!"

"Relax, Rachel. Come on. It's hot out. You're going to be in the scorching sun, working to get all that mud off my truck. Just worried about you, babe," he says. She doesn't buy it for a second. "See you in an hour."

"Noah!" she cries, but he hangs up before she even gets the word out.

Puck glances around his spotless kitchen. He's pretty sure it hasn't been this clean in ages. His mom keeps the house pretty much immaculate, but this is a whole other level. He can't believe Rachel did this.

And he still can't believe he just went to bed - alone - and left her in his house. You know, without trying to get into her pants. Total crime.

And Rachel in a bikini cleaning his truck? Kick ass. He's pretty much a genius.

.....

When Rachel pulls up to Noah's house, she sees him playing basketball in the driveway in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts.

And yes, she has a bathing suit on beneath her tank top and shorts. The way she sees it, she doesn't need him arguing about the rules of her 'slavery', and really, it is quite hot out. It's the end of May, and she's not willing to get heat stroke just to spite him.

And judging by the amount of sweat glistening on his back as he dribbles the ball, it really is hot enough to want to wear as little clothing as possible.

She gets out of her car, and he's holding the ball against his hip with one arm as the other wipes the sweat from his forehead. She thinks that might just be mildly attractive.

He notices immediately, the ties of her bikini under her black tank top. She's wearing a little (like _seriously_ little) pair of red cotton shorts and black flip flops. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail and her sunglasses are perched on her nose. He wishes he could tell if she was checking him out.

Shit. Of course she is. Have you _seen_ him? Girls can't help but check him out and he knows it.

"Hey," he calls. "Lookin' good."

She marches over to him and crosses her arms. (He's just thinking about how long it'll take for her to get out of her shirt.) "Let's get one thing straight, Noah." He arches his brow. She definitely_ does not _find that attractive. (Yes, she does.) "I am not here for your enjoyment. I am here because I lost. Anything I do will be strictly PG. You will not make any sexual comments, and you won't exploit me in any way, or I'm out of here," she says seriously. "Do you understand?"

He grins. "You know, you're kinda hot when you're bossy."

"Noah!"

He laughs and nods his head. "I get it. Take your shirt off."

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. Clearly, he doesn't understand that she's not there for him to ogle. "You are making me regret ever coming here last night."

"Whatever," he says, rolling his eyes. "You had a good time and you know it. I'm just havin' fun with you."

She can't really argue that. And really, it's not a big deal if he sees her in her bathing suit. He has before, last summer at the couple smaller parties she went to. Brittany invited her to a pool party, and then another time, Finn organized (yes, she was shocked, too) a trip to a local water park. And she's not shy about her body at all. She works hard to keep herself in shape.

When he sets the ball between his feet and reaches for the bottom of her shirt, she's too shocked to do anything but let him pull the fabric upward.

"Arms up," he says softly. She's never heard him use that tone of voice before. It's almost...she doesn't know what it is. He pulls the shirt over her head and sees her black bikini top with the red heart printed on the fabric of the left side, nearly covering her entire breast. She just bought this a few weeks ago. His reaction lets her know it was a good choice. "Damn." She thinks he didn't mean to say that. She certainly doesn't mean to smile. "I mean...shit. Look at you."

Now is not the time to get caught up in him.

"Where is your bucket?" she asks, pulling away from him.

He's still holding her tank top in his hands as she walks into the garage in search of what she needs to clean his truck. He can't really do anything but watch her. He's never denied that she's pretty. Those little skirts are like welcome mats (no, they really aren't, but he's thought about it once or twice or ten times). She's got nice hair and eyes that kind of make him feel...

Whatever. She's hot. Seeing her like this is totally awesome.

"Noah!" she shouts. "Help, please?"

He tosses her shirt next to his on the grass and walks into the garage. "You wanna maybe make it not sound like this is the worst thing in the world?" he asks. He reaches for the brush she'll need (extended handle, since she's so tiny) and the soap and wax from a shelf. "It's not like it's torture."

"I just want to get this done and get out of here."

He smirks at her as she takes the soap from him. "Who says this is all I want you to do today?"

She lets out a huff and stomps away.

And yeah, he checks her out as she goes.

He goes back to playing ball and she grabs the hose from the side of the house, spraying his truck down, trying to get some of the mud loose with just water. He thinks it's funny that she's barely even tall enough to spray the top of the truck with the hose when she's on her tip toes. But that does make her legs look awesome, so he's not about to like, offer to help or whatever.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised, but she actually does a totally awesome job. She uses the brush first to get the big clumps of mud off, then runs to her car and pulls this car washing mitt from the trunk of her car (he likes a woman who comes prepared) and does the wheels, the bottoms of the doors.

And he's just playing basketball and trying not to be too obvious when he checks her out.

"Missed a spot," he says, pointing towards the from of the truck.

"I'm not finished yet!" she snaps. He holds up his hands in surrender, and she rolls her eyes when she sees the smirk on his face. "This was actually almost enjoyable before you started critiquing me."

"I'm just sayin'. No point in you washing it if you aren't gonna do it right." He grabs his tee shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat off his face. She looks away too quickly for his liking. He walks over to where she's standing and grabs the brush as she wipes the stubborn mud from one of his rims. She's leaning over a little. Yeah, he checks out her rack. Who knew it was so awesome? "Here," he says, scrubbing the front grill. "See? I'm _helping_."

She laughs a little and looks at him doubtfully. "Yes. You've clearly done all the work here."

He laughs and flicks a little soapy water at her with his hand, and despite the fact that her legs and shorts are spattered with water, she squeals and turns away from him.

"C'mon, Rach. It's just a little water," he tells her.

"It's disgusting, muddy water!" she cries. He dips his hand into the bucket again and she screams. "Don't!"

He rolls his eyes, pulls the tee shirt from where it was tucked into the back of his shorts, and he wipes his hands. "Fine. You're no fun."

She kinks her brow and puts one hand on her hip and grabs the hose with the other. "That's not what you said last night."

_Holy shit._

(And then he thinks about what he did while she was cleaning up and there's a split second where he worries that she like, heard him or something, but he knows he was quiet, as hard as that fucking was to do at the time.)

He suddenly wishes this agreement was for her to be his _sex_ slave for a week. God, she's wound so tightly she'd probably be a total freak in bed. She'd be all uptight at first, then he'd make her come once and she'd be begging him for more. He's pretty sure a girl like Rachel just wants to feel like she doesn't need to be in control.

Or that could all just be some twisted fantasy he has that involves her sitting on his lap and his hand between her thighs.

Whatever.

Shit, it's hot out.

He looks over at her again, and she's spraying down the truck one last time, getting the last of the soap off it. He should not be so turned on right now.

"'S'fuckin' hot," he says absently as he tries not to stare at the way her boobs are pressed together because of how she's holding the hose.

"It is," she agrees. She reaches for a towel to dry the truck (there's no sense washing something if you're just going to let the water droplets dry and leave marks) and notices the way he watches her bend over. "Noah."

"What?"

"Are you..." She can't possibly ask him if he was just looking at her behind. He most definitely was, but she is not about to make mention of it. "Never mind."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Rachel," he says with a smirk, walking towards her. "You caught me looking. Big deal. You're practically naked in my driveway."

She feels her face flush and grabs the hose again. "I missed some soap!" she announces hurriedly.

He's laughing as she starts to spray the (non-existent) soap from the truck.

He does not expect her to spray _him_ with the hose.

He's soaking wet (it's not so bad, since it's so damn hot out) and glaring at her, and she looks so guilty and actually shocked at what she's done. Her eyes are huge and she's got her lips pursed tight.

And hell no, she's not getting away with that shit.

"I can't believe you fucking sprayed me!" he says, walking towards her. He watches the way her hand holds the hose a little tighter.

"You looked hot! I mean, you looked like you needed cooling down!" she says, quickly correcting herself. (Although he does look quite attractive without his shirt on.) "Noah, you stay away from me!"

She's kind of giggling, and actually, this Rachel that isn't so serious all the fucking time is _really_ fun. She tries to back away from him, but he lunges forward just after she's turned her back on him, and he hooks his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. He wrenches the hose from her hand as she squeals as he lifts her feet off the ground. She kicks them, but it's futile.

"Put me down!" she cries.

He laughs and ignores the way her hair smells (like honey or something). "You started it."

"Stop!" she laughs. "Noah, please. I'm begging."

"I do like to hear you beg," he says in her ear. She sends her elbow into his ribs in hopes of distracting him from the goosebumps that are inexplicably on her skin right now. "Ow!"

"I told you to let me down!" she says.

He sets her on her feet and she turns around to glare at him, but he gets her with the hose first, aiming for her chest. (What? If you're gonna do something, you gotta do it right.) The water sprays up into her face and hair and she sputters at him after the water has stopped again.

He's laughing so hard that he doesn't see the smile break out on her face. "Truce?" he offers.

When he glances at her, he notices how gorgeous she looks. Her hair is curling a little bit around her face, pieces falling from her ponytail. She licks drops of water from her lips, and her shorts are positively clinging to her legs. Her skin is glistening in the sun.

It's like he's seen the light.

And the light is super hot.

"I'm dripping," she says breathlessly, running a hand over her face.

Oh, god. He needs to get the fuck away from her.

"I'll grab you a towel," he mumbles, heading for the house.

As soon as he's inside, he adjusts his shorts and runs upstairs to the linen closet. He needs to get this under control. He can't be thinking with his dick right now. It's pretty fucking difficult, though, when she says things like she just said and jokes around and lets loose. What's he supposed to do? _Not_ think about what it'd be like to bang her? That's like, an impossibility.

But he can't sleep with Rachel.

No.

Except that he totally could. You know, if she wanted it, which he hasn't seen any indication of. Shit. Technicality.

He's got a whole week to wear her down.

.....

After she's dried off and (unfortunately, if you ask him) pulled her shirt back on, he tells her there's something he needs her to do in the house.

(Shit, that sounds dirty, doesn't it? He wishes.)

(No, seriously. He really does.)

"What now?" she asks, watching as he hops up onto the counter. He's just grinning at her like he knows something she doesn't. "What?"

"You want me to starve?" he asks, acting like it seriously hurts him that she'd consider letting him go hungry.

"Are you serious?" She puts her hand on her hip after pulling her hair into a ponytail again. "You want me to cook for you."

He grins lasciviously and hops off the counter, taking two long strides toward her. She backs up against the counter until she can't move any more. "Unless you want to do something else for me," he says.

Her jaw drops and she puts a hand on his chest to push him away from her. "Noah," she says dangerously. She's walking towards him now, and it's kinda hot, this scary look in her eyes. And when he walks into the cupboards behind him, he really hopes she's about to just attack him or something. "Nothing about this ridiculous slavery agreement is sexual, and if you continue to insist on implying that it is, you can bet your ass I _won't_ be keeping up my end of the bargain."

Did she just say _ass_?

"Gotcha, babe," he says, still smirking. This is the second time she's made one of these speeches. He thinks he might have to like, start listening.

"And don't call me that!" She moves away from him, crosses her arms, and her eyes meet his again. "So what would you like?"

And he's pretty sure she picks those words because they're so fucking easy to turn into a comment that would make her blush.

"Whatever you can make, ba..." He catches himself right before she starts glaring. "I'm gonna go shower. Call me when it's ready."

She gapes after him as he leaves the room, and she's left standing in his kitchen with no idea what to make, no idea what he'll like, and no idea what there is in the house anyway. She figures the refrigerator is as good a place as any to start. She looks inside and it's surprisingly neat, vegetables in the crisper, juices and milk on the top shelf, condiments neatly placed, labels facing outward in the door. She spots some chicken breast and figures that's at least something to work around.

When she hears the water start upstairs, she's completely distracted as she chops red peppers. Gosh, she should not be this...this..._attracted_ to him. He's crass and loud and obnoxious and he has absolutely no tact or sense of personal space.

But then she thinks of being pressed against him, playful as they joked around in his driveway. She thinks of watching his back as he shot his basketball lazily. She thinks of him in the shower right now...

(He thinks of her when he's in the shower. It's not his fault. Now that he knows what she looks like soaking wet (fuck) it's just the first image that comes to mind. And he knows his bathroom is, oddly, pretty much soundproof. So maybe he grounds out her name when he comes.)

She nicks her finger with the blade, curses (she's sure he'd be proud of her or something), and raises her finger to her lips to suck the blood. It's actually rather disgusting if she thinks about it, but she's really trying not to. She knows the cut isn't that bad, but she rinses it under the tap to get a better look. She honestly doesn't care if Noah gets scalded because she turned on the water. She grabs a band-aid from her purse (you never know!) and covers the cut, mentally chastising herself for getting so distracted by him when he's not even in the same room as her.

She's just putting the finishing touches on her southwest chicken salad (it's quite delicious; she makes it at home sometimes for herself) when he walks into the kitchen wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white tee shirt.

He looks at the plate between them (her presentation is fabulous, if she does say so herself).

"Salad?" he asks incredulously. "You made me salad?"

"With chicken!" she cries, offended. "And tortilla chips! And salsa!"

"It's a _salad_. I'm a _dude_, baby. I need man food."

"_Don't call me that_!" she says seriously. He smirks at her. He's infuriating! She reaches for a fork from the drawer and shoves it towards him. "Just eat it."

He sighs and takes the fork from her, stabbing a piece of chicken and some lettuce and whatever else is in there. He stuffs it into his mouth and...whoa. That's seriously fucking good. He chews slowly and swallows, because he does not need to let her know that he's like, really, really loving this. Shit. Knowing she's good in the kitchen doesn't help. He shouldn't care about that. He just wants to fuck her. That's _it_.

"'S'not bad," he admits with his mouth full of his second bite. He grabs the plate and walks over to sit at the table.

She sets a glass of water in front of him, trying not to look too smug. "Water helps with digestion."

He watches her sling her bag over her shoulder and furrows his brow. "You're leaving?"

"If there's nothing else?" she asks, and shit, the way she says it is kinda like, telling him that he doesn't want to ask her for anything more today. He can't really blame her, even if he does want her to stay until it's dark so he can seduce her. "I'll see you tomorrow at school, Noah."

"Later, Rach."

He doesn't even thank her. She turns on her heel and leaves and really hopes that this week isn't going to make her do anything she'll regret.

(She's already regretting betting so big in that poker game.)

But maybe spending time with Noah won't be so bad if he can keep his sexual innuendos to a minimum and try not to look at her with that grin on his lips. She'll be fine.

She can do this. Six more days.


	3. Chapter 3

He walks up behind her at her locker on Monday, leans down to speak into her ear.

"Come over tonight."

She spins around and finds him standing far too close for comfort, so she pushes him back a little bit, her palm on his chest.

"What now?" she asks, sighing.

"I wasn't joking. My room's disgusting," he says with a smirk. "Don't tell anyone you're coming."

She scowls. "Why? Because you don't want anyone to know that you actually spend time with me outside of school?" she asks hotly.

He chuckles a little bit. "No," he insists. "Because _you_ don't want anyone to know how bad you lost to me. You don't want anyone to know that I own you."

She hopes he doesn't notice the way she shivers.

"Fine. I have to have dinner with my fathers. I'll be over afterward," she says.

"My mom'll be home."

"Take it or leave it," she huffs.

"I thought I made the rules, babe," he says, smirking at her. She opens her mouth, but he cuts her off. "One of my rules? I get to call you whatever I want for the week."

"That's ridiculous!"

"No, honey," he says lowly. She meets his eyes. "It's the _rule_." He honestly thinks he could lean in and kiss her right now and she wouldn't stop him. "See you later."

She most certainly does not watch him walk down the hall.

.....

He's wasting time, blowing off class, sitting on the tailgate of his truck sipping a slushie and tossing around a tennis ball with Matt and Mike. This is pretty much their daily routine. Matt and Mike have the same free period (lucky bastards) and Puck is pretty sure he knows english, so he doesn't need to take a class in it, so they head to the Sev, get some Big Gulps, and fuck around for an hour. No one seems to care.

"So, what're you making Rachel do?" Matt asks with a smirk, jumping to catch the ball over his head because Mike, apparently, can't throw for shit. "She lost, right?"

"Hell yeah, she lost," Puck says proudly. "See how clean this shit is?" He gestures to his gleaming truck. She really did do an awesome job.

"You had her over yesterday?" Mike asks.

Puck shrugs, chops at the ice in his cup with his straw. "Had some shit for her to do."

"Not gonna lie, I'm totally jealous," Matt says, shaking his head. "Girl's cool. And totally hot, by the way. When the hell'd that happen?"

Puck smirks. "I dunno, man, but her in a bikini in my driveway with sweat rolling down between her tits was a pretty fucking sweet show."

The tennis ball stays in Mike's hand and he and Matt walk a little closer. "What?" Mike asks.

"Part of the rules. Made her wear a bikini."

"You're such a dick, man," Matt laughs. "But a damn genius, too."

"Right?" Puck says, grinning. "And she made me dinner."

Mike bounces the ball on the pavement in front of him, catches it swiftly. "I need a slave, dude."

"It's pretty fuckin' awesome. She's gonna clean my room tonight," Puck tells them. Mike bounces the ball again, and Puck grabs it out of mid air. "This is gonna be the best week ever."

Matt just shakes his head. "You're totally gonna bang her, aren't you?"

Puck just looks at him as the grin spreads on his lips. "Lord willin'."

"Lucky bastard," Matt mumbles. "I swear, I'd have Rachel in a heartbeat."

"Since when?" Mike laughs, furrowing his brow.

"Whatever. You would, too. Anyone would."

Puck feels the jealousy coursing through him. Fuck that noise. No one will.

Well, other than him.

"Back off, fuckers," he says, throwing the ball hard at Matt's head (guy has cat-like reflexes and catches it, so no harm, no foul). "I got dibs."

Both guys start laughing. Puck's not sure what's so funny.

"You can't call dibs on a girl," Mike insists.

Puck raises his brow and hops down off his truck. "I can if she's my _slave_. Stay the fuck away."

He walks away and hears them laughing.

What the fuck ever. He's just...protecting his investment. Or some shit.

He doesn't want Rachel getting sex from anyone who isn't him. That's not so weird, is it?

.....

It's strange, really, but Rachel thinks she and Santana are kind of friends now. Maybe kissing someone at a party on a dare will bring you closer to that person. Or maybe she and Santana just have some strange understanding. They're both territorial and possessive and want everything to go exactly the way they want it to go.

Santana walks into history class and sits down next to Rachel at the back of the room. "So, how mad are you that you lost?" she asks, and Rachel rolls her eyes.

"I'm surprised the whole school doesn't know by now," Rachel mumbles.

"Oh, please," Santana says, kinking her brow. "Puck is not going to advertise the fact that you're some closeted sexy girl who knows about poker. And he doesn't give a shit if anyone sees him with you."

Rachel is confused. What does him being seen with her have anything to do with it? And none of the males at school seem to show any interest in her on a regular basis anyway.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Puck doesn't share," Santana says, states it like a fact. "And he likes to lay claim. If you were cats, he'd pee on you."

Rachel laughs. "That's...that's a highly disturbing visual."

Santana smirks wickedly. "Well, some people like that, Rach."

"_What_?" Rachel gasps. She shakes her head and closes her eyes. "I don't want to know."

"Face it, Rachel. You're his now," Santana says. "And trust me. There are worse things to be."

"We're not...Noah and I are..."

Santana laughs again, turns towards the front of the room as the final bell rings, signaling the start of class. "I bet you're going to enjoy some of the shit he has you do." She casts a glance at Rachel. "I know I would."

Rachel is blushing so furiously that she can't even respond to that.

She knows exactly what Santana is talking about.

She knows that Noah wouldn't ask her to...

Would he?

No. He...

She thinks about it for the rest of the class. It's not entirely unpleasant.

Santana is still laughing as she walks into the hall after the bell.

.....

So Rachel can admit that Noah's frequent comments on how forward his mother is aren't exactly unfounded. Rachel is an overbearing person. She understands this. She accepts it and tries to at least sometimes keep her cool. (It rarely works, but she _tries._) But Ms. Puckerman? There's no try there. As soon as she opens the door, her face lights up and she asks if Rachel is there to see Noah, and when Rachel says that yes, she is, Ms. Puckerman (who insists Rachel call her Avivia) literally tugs her into the house, smiling the whole time. She doesn't want to be rude, and Aviva is perfectly sweet and welcoming, but Rachel just wants to clean the inevitable pig sty that is Noah's room and get back to her house.

After offering a drink, fruit, and (strangely) pumpkin pie, all of which Rachel declines, Aviva directs Rachel up the stairs to Noah's room with a careful reminder to keep the door open.

Rachel's sure she turns ten shades of red.

When she walks timidly into his bedroom, she sees him laid out on his bed in the same clothes he wore to school, a video game controller in his hand and a bag of chips open and resting against his side.

And then she sees the utter _state of disaster_ that is his bedroom.

There are literally clothes everywhere. There's a plate with some kind of sauce stuck to it, no less than four dirty glasses on various surfaces. There are loose papers scattered all over his desk. Video games and CDs all out of their cases, stacked in piles on his desk, dresser, TV stand and bedside table. His adjoined bathroom is relatively clean, thank god, and she's not even going anywhere _near_ there.

It's a complete _sty_.

He juts his chin in her direction. "'Sup?" he asks distractedly as he plays whatever racing game he's playing.

"Are you kidding me?" she asks, eyeing his room warily.

"What's that?"

"You live like this? How do you live like this? It's _disgusting_. I'm sure there are _insects_ in here. This is absolutely appalling, Noah. I mean, I assumed your room would be messy, but this is just _unhealthy_. Is that a hamburger?"

He looks to where she's pointing and smirks. "What's left of one, yeah," he chuckles. "Didn't wanna let you off easy. Ate dinner in here and...well, couldn't finish."

She lets out a sigh and pulls off her short sleeve button down shirt, revealing the tank top beneath. He glances at her for a second. She's super hot in those (unfortunately) long-ish shorts and the green tank top. She pulls her hair into a ponytail as she surveys the room again. He almost (but no, not really) feels bad about how disgusting it is.

"There's a good chance I may be sick," she tells him, eyes narrowed. "I hope that doesn't bother you."

He laughs and stuffs some chips into his mouth. "Do your thing. Bathroom's right there." She rolls her eyes and starts picking his clothes up off the floor. She goes to put a armful of clothes into the hamper. "Hey! Those are clean."

"What!" she shouts. "Well, why are they in a heap on the floor?"

"'S'how I _organize_, Berry," he says seriously. "Clean stuff over there, dirty stuff over here."

"How in the world does that possibly make _any_ sense whatsoever?"

"_Because_." He sounds exhausted. (He's totally faking it because he's doing nothing and she's picking up his shit. It's hilarious how annoyed she looks.) "I always undress right here," he says, pointing to the spot next to the bed. "Hence, these clothes are dirty. Not those."

She sighs and drops the pile of clothes onto the bed next to his feet. "This is a nightmare."

"Now, come on, babe," he says. She glares, but says nothing. He's staring at the television as he plays his game. "Most girls'd do a lot to get a night alone with the Puckerone."

"Your rhyming doesn't make that any more cute," she says, folding the clothes and stacking them in neat little piles.

"Sure it does. I'm talented like that."

"I don't want to hear about your _talents_, thank you anyway."

But she is already thinking about his talents. She's heard all about them through the rumour mill at school. How he's amazing in bed and made of sin and it just about makes her blush to remember the time they dated, how she could never seem to get enough of his lips. She can't say she's never wondered; been curious. But she's not about to tell him any of that. She's not an idiot.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Who the hell played your card?" he asks. He doesn't pretend to know her life story, but shit. He wonders why the hell she's so on edge all the damn time.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You still in love with Finn or something?" The look on her face makes him laugh. "What? That might explain why you're wound so fucking tight."

"Not that it is any of your business whatsoever, but no, I am not in love with Finn. I never was," she states seriously as she stuffs his tee shirts into the drawer he points to.

"I call bullshit on that."

"Well, you can believe whatever you want. And do you mind? I didn't come here for your stimulating conversation," she snaps. "I'm just trying to tidy this...this _disaster_, and get out of here."

He rolls his eyes, but turns back to the television, unpausing his game and racing the streets of Rome in his Aston Martin again. Totally badass, too. Black on black with sweet rims. He's cheering himself on, whooping when he makes curves perfectly, and he can see Rachel smiling. He thinks she might not hate this as much as she's letting on. There's no way she does. It's not like it's torture.

Okay, his room is fucking gross, but it's not like there's shit growing in there or anything. Any food is from today and any glasses only ever held water. So fuck it. It's not going to kill her. And he won't lie, it's kind of nice to have her buzzing around his room (she's hanging his button downs up in his closet right now) while he just chills. And he really is just chilling. He's playing video games and eating Doritos, for fuck's sake. He's not exactly got a full schedule. He doesn't even tell her to shut up when she starts singing softly to herself.

But then she stands directly in front of the TV and starts tidying the discs stacked on top of it.

What the fuck?

"Hey! Rach! Outta the way!" he cries, craning his neck to better see the television.

She turns to him, shooting daggers, shifting slightly so she's out of the way. He has some nerve to critique her, given that she's currently doing what he's obviously too lazy to do.

"Are you honestly saying this right now?"

"Follow my orders," he says with a sneaky grin. She lets out a huff and bends down to pick something up off the floor. He crashes his car into a wall because he's busy checking out her ass instead of paying attention to the game.

He's pretty sure she knows that, too, given the way she's looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"So, I met your mother," Rachel comments lightly as he restarts his game.

"Fuck. Yeah."

"She's nice."

"She's off her fucking rocker," he laughs. "But yeah, she's cool, I guess."

"She seemed to like me," Rachel says, smiling at him.

"'S'cause you've got a Jewish nose." She gapes at him. Shit. That didn't come out right. "I mean...Fuck, what I mean is..."

"You mean that my nose is out of proportion with the rest of my face!" she says, putting her hands on her hips. "I'll have you know, _Noah Puckerman_, that my nose is a distinguishing trait that could very well procure my place in..."

"Okay, whoa," he cuts her off, pausing his game again. "I'm not insulting you or anything. Your nose is cute."

"Cute."

"Yeah. It's like...I dunno. Whatever. Just don't get all pissy."

He can see that she's trying not to smile. Whatever. Her nose is cute, in a distinctly Jewish, Rachel Berry way.

Is he seriously thinking this hard about her goddamn nose? There are so many other, better, body parts to focus on. Like her tits. Which are currently being shown off by her tank top. She's got a perfect pair, even if they're small. He'd like to take one in his mouth and...

Fuck.

"I'm gonna get a drink," he announces as he stands from the bed. Too much time in his room with a girl he's not going to fuck. (Yet.)

"Wait!" she says, gathering the glasses in the room and stacking them on the plate. "Take these with you."

"Not my job."

"Noah, you're going anyway. Please, just take them," she pleads, shoving the plate towards him. He doesn't take it.

"I'm supposed to be the one calling the shots here, babe," he reminds her.

"Fine," she says smugly, smiling at him. "I'll just take these and have a conversation with your mother about Rabbi Meyer's philosophy on..."

"Oh, _fuck_. Fine. Give them to me," he sighs. She actually lets out a delighted squeal.

This? Her getting the upper hand? This shit needs to stop.

He needs to say something to put her in her place.

"How do I know you aren't going to look in my underwear drawer or something?" he asks, grinning as he leans against the wall.

She looks to him with this little smile on her face. "Because I'm not you?" she suggests. His jaw drops as he fakes offense.

He eventually smirks at her. Damn, he likes it when she's snarky like this. "I'll give you that one."

He winks before he slips out the bedroom door, and she finds there's a strange (wonderful) warm feeling flowing through her, a smile on her face as she gathers the dirty clothes up off his floor and drops them into the hamper behind the door. She can't deny she's attracted to him. She doesn't think any woman (and some men) could. The problem is that he knows it. And he flaunts it. And the fact that he's gorgeous doesn't seem to deter him from telling everyone in ear shot that he's a 'stud' and blatantly implying he's ready for sex at any given moment. He practically yells it from the rooftops.

She's stacking papers and books on his desk when he comes back into the room. She's put his video games back into the cases, and slipped his CDs (mostly mixes titled _Drivin' Tunz, Kick Ass Rap, JIGGA, M3TAL_, and the like) into a CD booklet with most of the sleeves empty. The room is actually _clean_.

"What took so long?" she asks. He tosses her a bottle of water, and she fumbles it a little before she catches it.

"Mom," he grumbles, laying back on his bed. "It was like the Spanish Inquiry down there."

"You mean Inquisition," she laughs before unscrewing the cap off the bottle.

"Whatever. Same thing."

"No, it's not."

He doesn't give a fuck.

"She was askin' about you," he tells her. He looks around the room as she wonders what Aviva could have possibly wanted to know, what kept Noah downstairs for nearly a half an hour. "Looks good in here, darlin'."

She rolls her eyes (she wants to smile). "How many little nicknames can I expect, Noah? Because I think you've used about five since I showed up."

"We'll see. I like to switch it up," he says with a smirk.

"Are you happy?" she asks, sweeping a hand around the room. "Clean enough for you?"

"I think this is cleaner than it's been in like, a year," he says seriously. "Mom's gonna love it."

"And I'm sure I won't be getting any credit for that," she says as she grabs her button down shirt off the back of his desk chair, pulling it back over her arms, but leaving it unbuttoned.

"Hell no. She'd be pissed at me for making you do shit," he says.

She shakes her head and reaches for her bag. "I'll see you tomorrow, Noah."

"Later, babe."

He watches her go.

She's fuming as she walks downstairs. He, yet again, didn't even thank her, didn't even walk her to the door. Aviva looks disappointed, both because Rachel is leaving and because Noah has no manners to speak of.

Rachel slams her car door closed and lets out a gruff scream of frustration.

Two days down.

.....

After Rachel has left, all Puck can think about is this crazy (awesome) fantasy of his that he's had since he was like, 13, and hasn't cashed in on yet. It includes him, a bed, video games, and a girl.

He knows that Rachel would totally slap him if he suggested she go down on him while he was playing PS3.

Actually, she'd totally slap him if he suggested she go down on him at all.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel is fairly certain on Tuesday that, since he hasn't sought her out by noon, she might just be off the hook for any ridiculous chores for the day. She's thrilled about it. Especially when she sees him in the hall and they're both alone, and all he does is cast a smile in her direction. He doesn't stop her or back her against a wall (which, if she's being honest, she wouldn't actually hate). He doesn't leer at her or make any comments or hand over a list of things to do.

So she's fairly certain she's in the clear.

He actually shows up to Calculus class, which is about a once a week occurrence, and that's when she starts getting nervous. There are two potential reasons for him to show up. One, he actually wants to learn (she nearly laughs when she thinks it) or two, he has something for her to do.

It's clear to her what's going on, especially when he sits down right next to her, flipping open his notebook and tugging her textbook towards him, setting it between them on the table.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Lost mine. Share."

She's about to argue, but she knows it wouldn't make any difference. It's her place in the world this week to do whatever he tells her to do (within reason), so she says nothing, turns to the front of the class, and pays attention to the start of the lesson.

He almost misses her fighting him on everything. It's kind of fun, this trading barbs thing they've had going on. It's fun to get her all riled up. Her cheeks get kind of red and she narrows her eyes at him, and then sometimes she lets out this little huff, like she's two seconds away from slapping him or something. It's totally hot.

The only reason he showed up to class is because he heard from Santana that like, the biggest boatload of homework of the year got handed out, and he's pretty sure that he can't pass the class if he doesn't complete it.

Well, if Rachel doesn't complete it for him.

God, he loves having a slave.

It's their last class of the day, and they don't have glee rehearsal on Tuesdays, so as she's packing up her books, he hangs behind so he can walk with her to her locker.

"What do you want?" she asks, sighing as she opens her locker, realizing that he's following her for a reason.

"Do my Calc homework."

He figures asking isn't really necessary, because it's not really a choice, now, is it?

She actually laughs. "Noah, I'm not going to do your homework for you. How do you expect to learn if you don't do the work?"

"I don't need to _learn_, sugar, I need to _pass_," he insists. She does that thing where she squints at him. "C'mon. You can't say no."

She slams her locker door closed and turns to him. "Fine. But I'm getting some of the answers wrong on purpose, because there's no way anyone would believe that you're anywhere near as smart as me."

"Ouch," he says seriously. "You're so fucking mean to me."

She laughs and slings her bag over her shoulder. "_I'm_ mean to _you_? _Master_?"

As soon as she's said it, she blushes. The smirk on his face makes her squirm in her place.

"This is getting so good. You're finally understanding," he says, tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger. "Come on. Mom works late tonight."

"I can't. I have to get home. My fathers had the day off and they're making their famous cannelloni."

"I love cannelloni," he insists, grinning at her.

She sighs at his self-extended invitation. "You're not staying for dinner." She starts walking towards the door and he follows behind her. "I'll do your work and then you're leaving."

He pulls his keys from his pocket and unlocks the doors to his truck when they get to the parking lot. See, she's crazy if she thinks her dads won't invite him to stay. And besides, if he tells her to let him stay, she has to let him. And her dads are cool enough. He's met them a few times through Temple and some glee stuff. They don't seem to think he's some hooligan, or if they do, they don't let on, which is pretty awesome.

He throws her shit into the back of the truck and laughs (she is pissed) when he watches her climb inside. She's got this little skirt on and he's pretty sure that if he, you know, didn't love his balls so much, he could totally sneak a peek at her panties. And as awesome as he's sure that would be, he kind of wants the first time he sees her that way to be because she's like, getting ready to ride him or something. And, you know, maybe that's a bit of a pipe dream, given that she looks out the window the entire drive to her place and doesn't open her mouth once.

When they get to the house, she taps her foot, waiting for him to pull her bag from the truck bed. He just looks at her as if to ask what the fuck she's holding out for. He can practically smell the marinara from the goddamn driveway, and he is going to _enjoy_ that shit.

And he knows that she's too tiny to reach in and get it herself. His truck is jacked up and she's approximately three and a half feet tall, so, you know. He grins at her as he gestures to the truck bed, and she literally growls as she stomps over and tries to reach for her bag.

It's just too cute, the way she gets up on her tip toes to try to reach over the side and catch the handle of her bag. Her skirt hikes up and her legs look endless, and her ass? Shit. That's worth the price of admission alone.

"Christ," he mumbles, laughing softly. He walks over and grabs her stupid pink bag, hoisting it onto the ground. "Here."

"Thank you," she says bitterly. "You're too kind."

"You know it. Let's do this," he says, starting towards the house.

The thing is, she knows her fathers are going to invite him to stay for dinner. She knows it. And actually, she loves that they're polite like that, that they have no problem inviting people into their home. Not that Rachel has a lot of people over, but still.

She doesn't want Noah to stay and say anything to her fathers that could reflect badly upon her. Like she gambled frivolously and now is being forced into this life of absolute misery (not really, but it's not necessarily pleasant) because she lost when the stakes were high.

Sure enough, as soon as they're in the house, her fathers come out from the kitchen with big, happy smiles on their faces, making small talk with Puck and kissing Rachel on the cheek like Puck's pretty sure they do every day. It's weird for him to see a family with a normal routine. His mom's shifts are all messed up and she's pretty much hardly ever at the house when he comes home from school. If she is, she's usually sleeping or whatever. This routine the Berry's have is weird.

"Noah and I have to work on some Calculus assignments," Rachel says. Puck wonders how hard it is for her to keep things from her dads. "We'll be upstairs, okay? With the door open."

Puck wants to laugh. He wonders if that's her dads' rule or hers.

"We'll call you two for dinner," Mark, the tall one says. "Noah, you're staying. No arguments."

Puck laughs and looks at Rachel, who's stomping towards the stairs. "Smells amazing. No complaints, here," he says. Her dads laugh and Rachel looks at him over her shoulder, rolling her eyes.

He follows her up to her room, and she's already unpacking her books at her desk. Her room is always like, freaky clean. Seriously. There's no way she ever even eats in here. He's surprised she does anything more than just sleep, actually. And she probably sleeps right in the middle of the bed, flat on her back with her arms at her sides or something so it's not a big chore to make her bed.

Fuck. He's thinking about her in her bed. Not the worst visual ever. (At all.)

He lays down on the bed, scoots up so he's laying against the pillows, and watches as she pulls her hair into a ponytail before sitting down at her desk.

"'Member the last time I was here?" he asks, grinning mischievously.

"You mean when you attempted to kiss me twice even though you had a girlfriend?" she says, not even bothering to look up from her work.

"No," he says. He doesn't think she's ever been this feisty with anyone in her life. He loves it. "I mean when you almost let me kiss you twice even though you had a boyfriend." She throws him a withering glance and he laughs again. God, she's cute when she's pissed. "That was fun, though."

"Hmm."

She's hunched over her books. He's bored. And he's trying to tell her he actually liked making a jackass of himself because it was a good time, watching her talk about 'artistic integrity' while working on the worst song in the history of fucking ever.

God, that thing was a piece of shit.

But whatever.

"You were awesome. I mean, that song was shit awful, and I knew when you were telling me to be more animated that I'd end up looking like a fucking loser, but it was fun."

She looks up at him, the slightest of smiles tugging at her lips. "It was," she admits. "And there's nothing wrong with being animated and trying to sell your performance to your audience."

"Whatever," he mumbles.

"If you'd like to watch television, you can. Or put on music," she says, gesturing to the little (seriously tiny) television sitting at one end of her dresser, her stereo on one of her bookshelves.

"You get ESPN up here?" he asks, reaching for her remote.

"Mhmm."

"Sweet. Yanks and Sox are playing. Should be a gooder."

She laughs and looks at him again. "_Gooder_? What on earth does that mean?"

"You know. Good one," he says, shrugging his shoulder as he gets a little more comfortable. "Damn, I'm thirsty."

The way he says it lets her know that he expects her to go get him something. Truth be told, she probably would have (should have) anyway. He's her guest, and any good hostess offers. She's just been preoccupied, wanting to get her work done so she can start on his and hopefully finish before dinner. That way he can leave directly afterward and won't have to stay any longer. She has an incredibly difficult aria to rehearse for her private lessons, and she was hoping to have the evening to herself to work on it.

Him sprawled out on her bed is far more distracting than it should be. Really, he's just a boy. It doesn't matter that his shirt is riding up, showing a sliver of his stomach that she shouldn't even be noticing. He has this permanent grin on his lips that she has to admit is so...well, the only word for it is sexy. Which, actually, is probably the word best used to describe him on the whole.

And she is sitting here doing calculus homework instead of...instead of...

Instead of what? It's not like he has any interest in her whatsoever, other than his run-of-the-mill, I-say-this-to-every-girl comments. And she doesn't really think she has any interest in him, either. She just happens to find him insanely attractive. It's really not a big deal. She's not the only one.

"What would you like?" she asks as she stands up and stretches her arms over her head. Her shirt rides up and her back arches a little.

_You, naked and spread eagle? _he thinks._  
_

"Fruit smoothie would be fucking amazing," he says, grinning at her. She rolls her eyes, but she's smiling, as she makes her way to the door.

"Any particular kind?" she asks. She's being facetious.

He smirks and raises his brow, locking eyes with her. "I like any kind of berry," he says, his voice low.

She leaves the room, hoping he doesn't see the way she has to take a deep breath to regain her composure.

What in the world is he trying to accomplish by saying things like that? She's sure he's just trying to get a rise out of her, and she won't give him the satisfaction of letting on that he affects her at all.

As soon as she's out of the room, he's itching to do something that'll piss her off. What, he's not sure. He's pretty close to her dresser, and he's sure he can peek into her underwear drawer, but again, he doesn't want to see 'em until she says it's okay. Not because he's a pussy and needs permission. Mostly because it'd be more of a surprise that way. And a fucking hot one at that.

So he just lays there on her bed with his hand behind his head, watching Lester pitch a gem and absolutely fuck the Yanks, which is always fun. Fucking Yanks. A-Rod can suck a dick. Fucking jackass. He lines out to second and Puck's smirking when Rachel walks back into the room with a big glass full of a very pink (fuck) smoothie and a plate of garlic bread with some fancy kind of butter. He sits up in her bed and he's pretty surprised when she hands him the plate. He would have thought for sure that she'd, like, make him eat on the floor or something so he wouldn't get crumbs on her bed.

"Thanks, muffin," he says, winking at her as he sips his drink.

"Muffin?" she giggles. "Really?"

All he does is grin in return.

She shakes her head as she sits back down at her desk. She starts in on her (their?) work again as he crunches on his garlic bread. She finds herself smiling when he talks to the television and curses the players and the refs. Her favourite, surprisingly, is _"Fuck yeah! Dustin Fucking Pedroia!"_ There's something about the passion he has for the game that tells her something about him. There's more to him than just curses, sexual comments and inappropriate behaviour. She doesn't know why she needs the reminder. She knows he cares about things, though he likes to pretend he doesn't. The annoying 'future crazy' part of her wonders what he wants to do with his life. She feels it's not her place to ask, so she says nothing.

But after about forty minutes, she finds she needs a break before starting on her next task (attempting to do his assignment so it doesn't look like she's done it. He's going to have to transpose it in his own printing.)

"Who's winning?" she asks, craning her neck to look at the television.

"Sox. 5-3."

"Is that good? You like the Red Sox?" she inquires. She stands and walks over, sitting down at the edge of her bed.

"Like 'em better than the Yankees," he says, and she chuckles at him. "You probably love the Yanks, since you're all about New York or whatever."

"Actually, I like the Mets. Next to the Indians, of course."

"You're an Indians fan?" he asks, surprised. The Indians are his team. The only lasting good memory he has of his dad is the bastard taking him to an Indians game. She nods. "Nice. Mets suck, though."

She swats his side as he laughs, and he grabs her hand, pulling her towards him quickly. She ends up half on top of him, wide eyed and surprised.

"What are you doing?" she asks, though suddenly her voice is hard to find. His hand is splayed across the small of her back, fingers brushing the skin between her skirt and shirt, and his thigh is hot, positioned between hers. "Noah."

"Shh."

"This is inappropriate." But she's already relaxed, watching the way he's laying there with his eyes closed, smile on his face.

"I wanna cuddle. I'm not against it," he says.

She scoffs. "There's a genuine surprise," she mumbles.

"C'mon. I'm not like that, really," he insists.

"Like what?"

"Don't fuckin' tell anyone," he says, opening his eyes to look at her. She's sure his expression is supposed to be menacing, but it's not. "I totally dig spooning."

Rachel laughs softly and his other hand comes up to rest on her shoulder, sliding around to her back. "This isn't spooning," she tells him.

"No? Show me." He smirks when she looks away. He wonders if she realizes she's playing with the button of his shirt.

"I'm not going to fall for your thinly-veiled attempts to..."

"I own you. Do what I say," he says. She pulls away a little bit, narrows her eyes at him.

She sighs and makes it seem like it's a big chore, but the truth is she can think of about a million worse places to be than in his arms on her bed. And she'd swear she's about to blush. She's glad she's turning so her back is to him. When she lays down, she reaches for his wrist and gives it a gentle tug, and he turns so he's on his side, his chest to her back. She rests his hand on her thigh. She's not surprised at all when he moves it a little bit, pushing her skirt up a little more. She is surprised when she doesn't chastise him for it.

He's not an idiot. He knows what spooning is. He also knows that he wants her pert little ass pressed up against him. He also knows that when he drags her skirt up a little bit so his fingertips are resting on her thigh, she doesn't seem to mind. A lesser man would totally be hard right now. Thank god he knows how to keep his shit in check.

And then she lets out this little sigh, like she likes laying with him like this, and he wonders if just maybe there's hope for him yet.

(You know, hope that she'll bang him.)

"This is kinda nice," he says, speaking low right next to her ear. "You're so little."

"I'm petite."

"You're fuckin' tiny," he chuckles. "'S'pretty hot, actually."

She rolls her eyes and moves away from him, standing from the bed. She didn't necessarily want to, but she knows that if she doesn't, she'll do something stupid like hold his hand. (Or worse, kiss him.)

"Are you even capable of going more than ten minutes without making some lascivious comment?" she asks, hands on her hips.

He shrugs, rolls onto his back and clasps his hands behind his head. "Dunno. Never tried."

She lets out a huff and stomps back over to her desk. During a commercial break, when she's still scribbling away and he's curious, he glances at her closet. There's something strangely forbidden about looking inside it. Maybe it's because all her clothes are so fucking innocent, and he wonders if that's all there is in there, or if she's got some hot stuff hiding in there.

So of course, he walks over and pulls open the doors. It's one of those crazy, girly walk-in closets.

So he walks in.

"What are you doing?" she asks worriedly, rushing in behind him. "Noah!"

"Checkin' stuff out," he says. Everything's colour coordinated. No surprise there. All her tops are hung neatly on the top railing, her skirts and other bottoms on the lower railing. The back wall is covered in shoes. "It's totally scary how organized you are. You probably have day of the week panties."

"I do not!" she cries.

He turns to her with his brow raised and looks her up and down, eyes lingering somewhere near her hips. "No? What kinda panties _do_ you wear?"

"I refuse to humour you by providing even _one_ of the myriad of reasons why I won't tell you."

He smirks at her and shakes his head. Then something catches his eye. There are a few shiny, shimmery things hanging at the back of the closet. Actually, there's a bunch of stuff there that he's never seen her wear. He never actually thought she'd ever be caught buying shit like that.

"What do we have here?" he asks, walking over.

"Noah..."

"Is this...The fuck do you have this for?" he asks, holding up a black corset-type shirt. Fucking _hot_ is what it is.

She walks over and snatches it from his hands. "I was in a play. It was part of my costume."

"Shit. What kinda play and why didn't I see you in it?" He starts looking through the clothes again, and she's going on and on about artistic integrity and bringing authenticity to a role or some shit. "Damn," he says, letting out a low whistle as he plucks a black dress off the rack. "This is totally hot."

She actually smiles as she takes it from him. "Every woman has to have a little black dress, Noah," she says.

Goddamn.

"Wear it," he commands. Her eyes go wide. "Tomorrow. To school."

"It's practically a cocktail dress!" She looks back to the strapless dress in her hands. It's tight through the body, hugs her hips and hangs to mid thigh. "I can't wear this to school."

"So wear something over it," he says, shrugging his shoulder. "Something like..." He pulls a short white little short sleeved sweater (she later calls it a bolero, whatever the fuck that is) and hands it to her. "This."

"Noah, I..."

"C'mon, Rach," he says, grinning as he steps towards her. He runs the back of his index finger from her elbow to her shoulder, then back down again. "For me."

She knows he's just reminding her of his pull over her, but it sounds like a lot more than that to her. Maybe she just wants it to be more than that.

But that's just crazy thinking.

"I'm going to be ridiculed," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"You're going to be fucking stared at by every dude in school," he argues. God, he can't wait to see her in that dress.

He doesn't necessarily love the idea of everyone else ogling her, but it's a side-effect he's sure he can handle. He'll just make sure he's around her lots and other dudes won't openly stare. At least they'll just glance.

Fuck it. They'll probably openly stare. He probably won't be able to blame then. But he'll probably stick around her most of the day anyway.

You know, because he'll have things for her to do.

She hangs both items on the back of her closet door, then walks over to her wall of shoes and bites her lip as she tries to pick something. She settles on a little red pair of strappy sandal things with a short heel. He approves, though he's sure she doesn't care. Then her dad is calling up the stairs telling them dinner is ready, and Puck winks at her before gesturing for her to leave the room.

And yeah, he's not doing it to be polite. He's doing it so he can watch her ass in that little skirt. God, she felt good pressed against him. He's fucking horny as hell and spending all his time with a girl who's not gonna give it up.

.....

He leaves after (delicious) dinner. Sort of. She tells him he'll have to copy all the answers she provided in his own printing, and he figures her bedroom is as good a place as any for that shit. She actually looks surprised when he calls her on a couple of the wrong answers, asks her if she's trying to fail him or something, but he's totally joking, and he actually does the work so the answers are correct. He's not an idiot, he just hates school.

"Thanks, doll," he says, shooting her a wink when she walks him to the front door. He's already thanked her fathers. He isn't a complete heathen. (She's very aware that this is the first time he's thanked her for anything she's done for him.) "Seeya tomorrow. Can't wait."

She rolls her eyes and closes the door on his face.

As soon as he gets home, after he's shrugged off his shirt and changed into a pair of sweats, he texts her.

_Don't forget your Wednesday panties. ;)_

He's watching a rerun of Family guy when she texts back, and he nearly chokes on his fucking drink.

_I won't elaborate, but surely panty lines would take away from the appeal of the dress, don't you think? _

Instant boner. Is she...? Does she mean...?

_No panties at all, then? Pls._

He holds his phone in his hand as he waits for a response.

_Goodnight, Noah. _

Well, fuck.

This? Rachel always getting the last word?

He kinda likes it.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel looks at herself in the mirror as she twists the ends of her (admittedly perfect) hair around her ringers. She waited until her fathers left for the day before getting dressed, because she's sure they'd question her wardrobe 'choice'. As soon as she said goodbye to them, she went back to her closet and grabbed the dress.

She knows this is going to spell ridicule.

But then again, other girls wear outfits like this on a regular basis. She knows she's not other girls, but surely it won't be so strange that she's wearing a dress instead of a skirt. Every time she wears her yellow jeans (they're fabulous, even if no one else can admit it) people look at her because she doesn't have bare legs. (It's not because her jeans are _yellow_.)

But this - this dress and these shoes - wearing this, she actually feels like she could fit in if she wanted to. She and Santana have been talking a little more. Yesterday, she was in front of Quinn in line at the cafeteria, and the two carried on a pleasant conversation until they went to their table. They sit at the same table now, but Rachel was talking to Artie about an audio/visual project, and Quinn was talking to Brittany about something or another.

Anyway, she thinks maybe she's just dressing like the other girls and no one is likely to notice.

She most certainly does not expect to see Noah standing against his truck when she walks out of her house to head to school.

And she doesn't necessarily hate the way he's got one brow raised, a smirk on his lips. He lets out low whistle and pushes himself off his truck, walking towards her.

"Best idea ever," he says. His eyes are fixed solely on her legs. "You look fuckin' hot, babe."

"Thank you, I think."

"You sure you wanna go to school?" he asks. The little grin on his face lets her know he's about to say something suggestive. "'Cause if you just wanna stay here and let me..."

She holds up her hand and grimaces. "I'm going to stop you right there," she says. (She's sure the butterflies in her stomach will stop fluttering any moment now.) "What are you doing here?"

"Checking you out before anyone else can," he answers honestly. "And giving you a ride to school."

"I have a car."

"Thanks for the update," he says sarcastically. He takes her bag from her, tosses it into the bed of his truck. "C'mon. Don't wanna be late."

"Noah, I really was intent on driving. I have dance class this evening after glee, and..."

"I can drop you off," he says. He wrenches the door open and gestures for her to get in. "I don't have all day, darlin'. Get your sexy ass in the truck."

She opens and closes her mouth a couple times.

Did he just call her sexy?

She doesn't question it (or how she's going to get home from dance class). She just gets up into the truck and lets him close the door behind her. After all, he's never really hid the fact that he finds her attractive. It's just a little surprising, because, save for a couple silly little instances, he's never attempted to pursue her romantically. She wonders why that is. Maybe she really is too high maintenance for him.

"So, you find a partner or what?" he asks.

"Pardon me?"

"You said you needed a partner for your class or whatever. You found someone?"

How in the world does he remember this shit? That was from a night when he was drinking and thinking of all the nasty shit he wanted (wants) to do to her, and he remembers this stupid little detail? Just something small she said? Fucking weird.

"Actually, I did, yes," she says with a smile. "Jonathan."

There's something about the stupid look on her stupid (hot) face that pisses him off.

Okay, it's total jealousy. What, is she into this dude or something? Why else would she be smiling like that? No one is that good a dancer.

And seriously. Ballroom dancing is kinda...well, there's like _touching_ and stuff, and he doesn't think he really wants anyone to be touching her.

_He_ wants to be touching her.

Leave it to Rachel Berry to find time to run game even when she's acting as his slave.

What the fuck?

"Well, who the fuck's this Jonathan guy, anyway?" he asks, annoyed as he pulls off her street.

"He goes to West Lima. He actually plays football!" He pulls his truck over to the side of the road. Not exactly smoothly, either. She's holding onto the safety handle on the door, bracing her feet on the floor. "Noah!"

"Jonathan Davis? The QB from West Lima?" he questions. She shrugs her shoulder and nods. "You can't fucking go out with that dude!"

She laughs.

Fucking bitch.

(But goddamn, her laugh is so _cute_.)

"I'm not _going out _with him, I'm dancing with him. And I would have thought for sure you would have made fun of him for being a dancer," she says.

She's still laughing.

No, really. What the _actual_ fuck?

"I will. Trust me. By second period, everyone in Lima will know he's a big dancing gay, but..."

"I find that _highly_ offensive, as the child of..."

"Whatever. Listen. You can't fucking hang out with that dude," Puck says seriously, looking over at her. Now she just looks confused.

"Why in the world not?"

"Because I fucking _hate_ that guy!" he shouts. She flinches at the sound of his raised voice. "West Lima kills us every year, and I swear to god, he and Santana totally fucked at a party when she was my girl."

"Noah, I..."

"I'm the boss. I won't allow it," he says smugly. Her eyes narrow dangerously and he's pretty sure he's about to get laid into.

"Now you listen to me, Noah Puckerman," she says, turning towards him. Her dress rides up, and yeah, he looks. Whatever. She looks totally hot when she's pissed. "I haven't exactly given much resistance to many of the things you've ordered me to do. I think this outfit is a perfect example of that." He smirks. (It actually is pretty perfect.) "But when it comes to things that actually affect my life, such as my dance classes, you get _no_ say. You're not my boyfriend and you're _certainly_ not my father. So I will dance with Jonathan, and I'm sure we'll be fantastic together."

He tightens his jaw and he squints darkly at her. She's not supposed to be _fantastic_ with this other douchebag.

"Fine," he says, pulling the truck back onto the road. "But I'm coming to watch."

"Noah!"

"Maybe get a little cell phone video of that fucktard prancing around like a..."

"Don't you dare say the word," she says seriously. "And you're not coming."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"Am too."

"_Are not!_"

"Rachel," he laughs. "I'm fucking coming."

And if Jonathan Fucking Davis just happens to assume that Rachel is Puck's girlfriend, he's not going to clear up that little misunderstanding.

Fuck it.

(And he's _totally_ taking video, by the way.)

...

She's immediately uncomfortable when they walk into school. The first people they see are Mike, Matt and Finn, who all look at Rachel with wide eyes. Matt's practically drooling (Puck doesn't like it, but he keeps his cool). Mike is smiling and nodding appreciatively, and Finn just looks shocked.

"Everyone's staring at me," Rachel says quietly. "This is terrible."

"'S'cause you look awesome," Puck says. She waves to the boys and she's surprised when Noah doesn't leave her side to talk to them. He walks with her. "What?" he laughs when she looks at him. "I can't walk with you now?"

"You never really have before," she reminds him.

Well, fuck. That's true. "Whatever."

When she sees Kurt and Tina standing near her locker, Rachel gets nervous again. "Noah, I think this was a terrible idea. I feel completely out of my skin, and..."

"Calm the fuck down, cupcake," he says. She actually cracks a smile at the nickname. "You look awesome. Don't worry about it."

Rachel is in the middle of putting her books into her locker, her dance bag on the top shelf, and Kurt walks over with one arm across his torso, his elbow resting on his wrist. He's got his index finger pointed in her direction, a brow raised.

"Miss Berry, who put this together for you?" he asks.

Rachel looks down at herself for what feels like the hundredth time. "Oh, actually..." She feels Noah push his elbow none-too-gently into her back, sending her forward a couple inches. She gets the hint; he doesn't want her to mention his apparent good taste in fashion. "I just wanted to wear this dress. I had to make it appropriate for school."

"It's lovely, really," Kurt admits. "No wonder Puck is hovering."

"Fuck you, Hummel," Puck says. No one accuses him of...

Whatever.

"Defensive," Kurt mumbles.

"I gotta go see Coach T.," Puck mumbles. "Later!"

Rachel shakes her head and goes back to gathering her things for her first class.

Kurt is behind her, checking the labels on her clothes and mumbling to himself about some kind of transformation.

...

"Let me guess," Santana says, slipping into the desk next to Rachel in history. "Puck totally wanted to see you wearing something like this."

"I swear, you're the only one who understands any of this," Rachel says.

Santana laughs and shakes her head. "Puck likes to be in control."

Rachel looks at Santana with a certain amount of surprise on her face. "I don't think I want to hear the story of how you came to know that."

"No, probably not," Santana says. Both girls open their books and smile at Quinn when she walks into the room and takes an open seat near the front. "Hey." Rachel looks over at Santana and notices the soft look in Santana's eyes. "You do look really hot today, though." Santana starts laughing when Rachel blushes. "Don't worry. I'm not coming on to you. Just thought you should know. But I bet someone already told you at least five times this morning."

"It really is quite terrifying how well you know this situation," Rachel laughs.

Santana shrugs her shoulder and taps her pen on her textbook. "I just know him, that's all."

Rachel resists the urge to ask whether or not all this attention Noah is giving her means anything at all.

...

"Wanna skip class and show me your panties?"

She drops her books on the floor.

His chest is pressed against her back, his forearm bracing him against the locker next to hers.

And she's fairly certain she's close to saying yes. There's a noise that's threatening to tear from the back of her throat, and it's taking every ounce of self-restraint (and maybe respect) not to push herself back against him. There's a heat coursing through her, pooling right at the very bottom of her stomach.

This is not a normal reaction to such a crass statement and someone infringing on one's personal space.

"You're hesitating," he says, moving his thigh so it brushes against the back of hers. If she thinks he doesn't notice the way her breathing has changed since he walked up, she's mistaken. He _knows_ turned on. She's _totally_ turned on.

"I'm just appalled at your lack of tact," she says, finally finding her composure again. She pushes back against him, her behind coming in contact with his hips sharply to push him away. It works. (She definitely hears the low groan he lets out when their bodies touch.) "You need to mind my space."

"Oh, I'm minding your space, baby," he says. His hand lands on her hip and she spins around, attempting a glare. She's smiling, though.

"You have this incredible, yet infuriating, way of making anything sound like a sexual innuendo," she states.

He's looking down the front of her dress. He hears her anyway.

"I know, right?" he says proudly. He picks up her books and hands them to her. "But seriously. Panties. Don't tease me."

"Noah!" she hisses, shifting her eyes either way down he hall. No one seems to care that they're talking. "I am not teasing you. You're the one coming up with ridiculous - "

"Awesome," he interrupts.

" - scenarios, most of which seem to include you or I, or possibly both of us, in far less clothing than we're currently - "

He smirks. "You know me so well, buttercup."

"Basically, I'd like you to stop." _Because it's hard for me to want you to stop_. "And, _really_? _Buttercup_?"

He laughs softly and shrugs one shoulder. "Thought I'd try it out." She rolls her eyes, smiling up at him. "Yes or no on the panties? Because I need to decide what to do this period if I'm not sneaking a peek."

"You're disgusting," she says, slamming her locker door closed, pushing away from him and starting down the hall.

"So that's a no, then?" he calls after her.

She raises her wrist and flicks it twice, and he just grins as he heads the other way down the hall.

(But seriously...what kind of panties is she wearing?)

...

Before glee starts, he tells Matt and Mike to fuck off and quit staring at her, because not only are they being way too obvious, but he doesn't like the thought of anyone stepping in there before he can.

Hence, going to her dance class to make sure Jonathan Fucking Davis keeps his hands above the waist.

Seriously, he has a hard time himself. Her ass looks super hot in that tight dress. And he sees no pantylines whatsoever, so she's either wearing a thong (hot) or nothing at all (can't even fathom...mind going a million dirty places). The only person who sees him looking so intensely is Santana, and he's pretty sure that's just because she's looking too.

So he mouths _'back off' _during one number when they're facing one another and Rachel is in both their lines of sigh, and Santana laughs so hard they have to start the song over.

...

"Rachel, what the hell? How much shit can one person fit in their locker?"

"I have a lot of things, Noah, and I would normally leave my dance clothes in my car during the day, but seeing as you showed up at my house this morning demanding that I ride to school with you, that option was stolen away from me today."

Jesus. _Whatever_.

"'C'mon. Don't you have a schedule or something?" he asks, slumping back against the wall.

"I do. Which is why I need you to wait here so I can quickly change in the washroom before we leave," she says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She hands him her back pack, and he holds it by the strap as he stares at her.

"Why does it feel like I'm _your_ slave right now?"

"Because you decided to be a brute and be my bodyguard for a class I would have been perfectly content to attend on my own," she says over her shoulder. The last word gets cut off as the bathroom door closes behind her.

Well, shit. He's pretty sure she's right. And he definitely knows he doesn't care if he has to hold her bag for her or drive her to dance class or wait around and listen to shitty classical music while she twirls around with some loser.

She walks out of the bathroom wearing strappy heels, a flowy skirt that comes to the knee, and a loose-fitting top that's low cut in the front and back with a skinny-strapped tank top underneath. He honestly doesn't know if he likes this look or the other one better.

"What?" she asks when she notices him staring. "Come on. Class starts in a half hour and I need to warm up properly."

He doesn't tell her how hot she looks. You know, because he doesn't want to like, give her a complex or anything.

It's not because he just doesn't know how to say it in a new way. Fuck that.

...

"So what kinda class is this anyway?" Puck asks as they walk up the stairs to her dance studio. All he is seeing are a bunch of like, 30 year old people, and they don't really seem like the type Rachel would normally dance with.

But shit. He doesn't really know anything about this part of her life.

"Noah," she says as the reach the top of the stairs. "Have you ever heard of the samba?"

He shrugs one shoulder and shakes his head. She just smiles and pushes the door to the studio open.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

It's like sex on a hardwood floor.

He stands there, just inside the door, watching the couples dancing (writhing against one another) on the floor. This is fucking crazy, dude. There's one chick, totally hot, in this bright pink little dress with fringe and shit, and she's got her leg up around this dude's hip as he practically thrusts into her.

Oh, _this_ is the kind of dancing he could get on board with.

Then he sees Rachel talking with Jonathan Fucking Davis, and he realizes that she's going to be doing _this_ with _that_ dude.

He knows he'll look like a completely jealous asshole if he says anything to her about it, so he takes a seat on one of the folding chairs against the wall and gets his phone out. But fuck, even his plan to post this shit on Youtube is shot to hell, because this Simba dancing or whatever the hell she called it is totally hot. It'd probably send the girls Jonathan Fucking Davis' way, dropping their panties in a pile next to him or something.

Fuck.

Rachel starts stretching or whatever, so Puck starts watching her instead.

This slavery thing seems to be taking a back burner today. He needs to think of something to make her do or the whole day will be a loss.

"Puckerman," Davis says by way of greeting.

"Davis," Puck says, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not dancing like a loser," Puck replies, just because it's easy. Davis rolls his eyes. "Came with Rachel."

Davis gets this stupid look on his face. "Well, have fun watching."

The way he says it makes Puck want to beat the fucker within an inch of his life.

Rachel waits in the middle of the room for Jonathan to finish speaking with Noah. When he walks over to her, he's smiling, and he takes her hand in his, getting into position for their warmup. It's a simple waltz, just to get their muscles ready for their real routine, which is already choreographed and they've both worked on with their instructor. Rachel is certain they're going to do well, but they only have an hour, so as soon as the Latin music comes on, she's taking position and looking at Jonathan, waiting for him to catch up. It takes him no time at all, and she thinks maybe this isn't the worst pairing. Actually, she knows he's better than people think. He hasn't had any chance to shine, really. That's where she comes in.

She's sweating as they work on this one tough part of the choreography over and over again. It requires her to put her leg over his forearm, him to straighten her leg and caress her calf as she arches her back. He's taller than her last partner, so it's not the simplest thing to just pick up on, and if they do it wrong, she ends up on the floor on her behind or worse, her head. So far that hasn't happened. She appreciates that he's there to catch her if she goes off-balance.

Once she thinks they have it close to perfect, she suggests they take it from the top, and she adjusts her shirt, smiling at Noah as he watches her start the music again.

"Your boyfriend's watching pretty closely," Jonathan says to her.

"He's not my boyfriend," Rachel insists. She grabs his hand and pushes it into proper position on her back.

"He's not your boyfriend, but he's coming to watch you dance? Puck isn't exactly the type to..."

"Please focus," she interrupts. "If we want to be ready for the regional ballroom competition in July, we need to channel our energy."

He pulls her in tight, which is actually what he's supposed to do, but then she sees him glancing over with a smug smile at Noah, whose jaw is clenched as he sits with his elbows on his knees. Rachel doesn't know what's going on, but she'd bet (apparently she hasn't learned her lesson yet...) it has something to do with jealousy.

"He might not be your boyfriend, but he totally wants to be," Jonathan says as he spins her roughly, then pulls her back against him.

God, she really loves Latin ballroom. Jonathan is an adept partner.

So why is she so focused on and worried about Noah? And why was she so defensive earlier, interrupting Jonathan before he had a chance to talk about Noah's reputation like he knew him.

And why does part of her wish it was Noah's hands on her body, his pelvis arching against hers during the choreography, his face dragging against her neck during the most sensual section?

She's glad they're almost finished. She's suddenly far too hot.

They manage to make it through the entire routine, and while there is plenty to work on - quite a lot, actually - they've got the basic steps down. She feels confident that, come the competition, they'll be in top shape.

She's just exhausted at the moment. She walks over to where Noah is sitting, reaches for her bottle of water from her bag and takes a long drink. She must look ridiculous. She knows she's covered in sweat. Her hair is in a messy bun, pieces falling around all over. But Noah is just staring at her.

"What?" she asks, putting a hand on her hip.

"Nothin'."

"I find that hard to believe."

"You looked good out there, babe," he says. They both look over when they hear Jonathan's soft laughter. Puck rolls his eyes.

That fuckin' guy was just all up in Berry's business, and Puck didn't like it one bit. Especially not the part where Rachel put her back to his chest, shimmied down to the floor, and Davis hooked his hands under her arms, pulled her back up, then basically dry humped her ass.

This was a bad idea.

"Bye, Rachel," Jonathan says from the door.

"Goodbye," Rachel says, smiling sweetly. After JFD is out of the room, Rachel sits down in the chair next to Puck. "So? Do you still think dance is only for homosexual men?"

He scoffs and looks over at her. "At one point, I wanted to hand him a rubber just in case."

"Noah!" she giggles, swatting his arm. "That's terrible." He smirks and shrugs one shoulder. "And I would never...do that...with Jonathan."

Best news he's heard all day.

"No?"

She shakes her head and screws the cap back on her metal water bottle. She stands and slings her bag over her shoulder.

"I like my men just a little more badass," she says as she walks away, turning her head to glance at him.

He gets up and follows after her, heading down the stairs and out into the parking lot towards his truck. He grabs her bag from her, but doesn't unlock the door. He presses her back against the metal, and it's hot against her back.

"Careful with that talk, Rachel," he says, his fingertip running along her hip at the top of her skirt. He can't read the expression on her face. He backs away before she can launch into some speech about him treating her like an object or some shit.

But fuck. What'd she mean by what she said? Was she just busting his balls, or does she actually want him? Because, dude, he's _so_ there. He'll take her right here in this parking lot if she wants it. All he needs is for her to say 'yes' and he's pretty much ready to go.

"Come on," he says, opening the door for her. "We're going to your house. I'm starving for some supper and I want chocolate chip cookies."

"I don't have chocolate chip cookies," she says, brow furrowed. She rolls her eyes when he smirks at her.

"You're gonna make me some," he tells her.

He gets into the car and she just shakes her head at him. "You know, I really thought you'd have something worse for me to do than baking cookies."

"Just you wait."

There's a knot in her stomach and she can't tell if it's dread or desire.

...

Her fathers have already eaten, which isn't out of the ordinary on the days she has dance class, so she makes pasta with rosé sauce and sautéed chicken, garlic bread and Caesar salad for herself and Noah. While their food is cooking, she whips up a batch of cookies and puts them in the oven so they're hot and waiting when Noah is ready for them. He's currently doing his homework (she doesn't think he's really doing much, but his books are open) at her kitchen table.

When he walks over and takes a cookie off the cooking rack just as she's draining the pasta, she scolds him and actually slaps his hand.

"Noah! You'll ruin your appetite."

"Nuh uhn," he mumbles, his mouth full of cookie. "My appetite's un-ruinable."

"That's not even a word," she says, hand on her hip.

"Whatever. These are fuckin' delicious, bunny." She turns to him quickly and starts laughing. "What?"

"Daddy calls me bunny."

"Oh, Christ," he groans. "Forget I ever said that. I'm not gonna be all up in your Oedipal fantasies."

She scrunches her face. "First of all, ew, _no_," she says. He laughs a little bit. "Second of all, I am very impressed that you know what the Oedipal complex is."

"I watch a lot of Criminal Minds, babe. Sometimes that shit gets fucked up," he says seriously. He grabs another cookie and she glares at him until he puts it back. "Fine. But I'm dying, here. We almost ready to eat?"

"If you'd be patient for two minutes, I'd put a salad and some bread in front of you," she says.

He pushes his books out of the way (not like he was actually doing homework anyway) and watches as she moves around the kitchen, grabbing plates and setting out the salad, cutting the bread on the wooden cutting board before walking it over to the table. He's actually, like, polite enough to wait for her to sit down before digging in, even though he's fucking starving his ass off.

Which would be a damn shame, because his ass is pretty awesome.

She sits down in what he knows is her spot, which happens to be diagonal from where he's sitting, and she gives him this fucking _adorable_ little smile as she reaches for her fork.

And it's pretty damn weird that they're like, sharing a meal or whatever. But it's not awkward or anything. It's just that until a few days ago, they hardly ever spoke. Maybe once a week or whatever, and it was usually about nothing. Like her bitching him out about glee stuff, or him making fun of her for being kind of intense and scary during rehearsal.

And as far as having a slave goes, this day has been super light. Sure, she wore that sexy as hell outfit and he got to reap the benefits of looking at her wearing it all day. Then her dance class, which was actually super hot, even if she was writhing with that fucking douchebag he hates.

But he's really glad he has actual shit for her to do for the next few days. Oh yeah, he's thought this out.

They're talking about her dance class (her choice, not his) and he says something about the way her skirt rode up every time she bent backwards (which happened to be a lot, for the record) and he totally could have seen her underwear if she hadn't been wearing stupid shorts or whatever underneath. She shakes her head and laughs, tells him he's a pervert. He just shrugs his shoulder and forks more food into his mouth.

One of her dads walks into the kitchen a few minutes later, claiming he needs a drink or something. Puck knows _'I'm just checking to make sure this boy isn't defiling you'_ when he sees it. So he keeps his head down, eats his food, and tries not to laugh too hard when her dad tries to take a cookie and Rachel absolutely looses her shit.

"Those aren't for you!" she cries. Her dad just laughs and looks at her like she's crazy. Puck gets the impression that kind of look is a common one in this house. "They're for Noah."

"You're baking him cookies?" her dad asks with a raised eyebrow.

"He...I..."

"My mom can't bake to save her life," Puck says. It's a lie. She's kind of an awesome baker. But now that he thinks of it, she doesn't really ever make cookies. "Rachel offered. But I don't need, like, a whole batch of cookies. Go nuts, man."

He thinks he's been too casual, but her dad just picks up a couple cookies, holds them up as if to say thank you, and shakes his head as he walks out of the room.

"You just lied to my father!" Rachel hisses.

"White lie," Puck says with his mouth full. "No big. And I can't eat all those cookies, babe. I don't stay in shape like this by eating like that."

She starts laughing. "Just about every time I've seen you in the past week, you've been eating some kind of junk food."

He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. I was _sharing_."

When she smiles, he forgets to add onto that sentence that she probably doesn't know anything at all about sharing. And anyway, she's really not as selfish as she comes off. He knows that first hand.

After they've finished eating, she's standing at the sink, rinsing dishes before setting them in the dishwasher.

God, she's hot.

So he does what might be becoming his favourite thing to do.

He walks up behind her, rests his hand on her hip and presses himself against her. "I'm gonna go," he says in her ear. She smells fucking awesome, sweet, actually. He wants so badly to taste her.

"Noah, my dads..."

"Oblivious," he says. He doesn't elaborate, doesn't say they're oblivious to how badly he wants to fuck their daughter.

She pulls herself away from him, reaches for a Tupperware container and starts placing cookies in it. He leans back against the counter, eating one of these delicious treats as she works.

"Here," she says, handing him the container. "I'll see you tomorrow. Should I clear my after-school schedule?"

He smirks at her. She's learning.

"Yup," he says.

"What are you going to make me do?"

"Not telling," he insists. He slings his backpack over his shoulder. "Talk to you later, Rach."

She watches him leave, and it's becoming very hard to ignore the fact that she doesn't actually mind taking care of him a little bit.

...

Her phone rings around 10:00, just as she's laying in bed reading a book before she turns the light out at exactly 10:30. It's her nightly routine. Reading non-school sanctioned books, she finds, helps clear her mind and keep her on her toes, as far as literature goes. She likes to keep up with the best sellers.

It's Noah. She knows it before she even answers. Who else would call her this late at night?

"Whatcha doin'?" he asks in a singsong voice.

"I'm..." _Do not tell him you're in bed. _"I'm reading."

"Something sexy? Like one of those lady porn books?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"You know. Romance novels or whatever. My mom reads 'em. They're totally pervy," he says. She rolls her eyes, but she's acutely aware that she's smiling.

"I'm reading a book called _The Disappeared_. It's about..."

"Yeah, if it's not dirty, I don't really care," he says. She's not surprised. "What're you wearing?"

"I'm hanging up now," she says, doing her best not to laugh.

"Not so fast," he says casually. "Don't you think that as my slave, I should get to picture you..."

"I most certainly do not," she interrupts. "I told you before, I won't be treated like some kind of strange fantasy."

"Too late for that," he mumbles. She hears him loud and clear. Her body is 10 degrees hotter than it was five minutes ago. "And there's nothing strange about it."

"I'm hanging up," she says. "Don't call again this evening."

"Why?" he asks. She can hear the cockiness in his tone. "Would I catch you doing something you don't want me to know about?" His voice is low, gravelly. She feels it in the pit of her stomach. "I don't mind being your fantasy, Rach. Even better if you tell me about it later."

She's a little breathless. No one has ever really spoken to her this way before, not on the phone.

"Noah."

"It's okay, Rach. Everyone does it. I already have today. Twice. Might go for round three," he says. "It'd help if you told me you're wearing some lace or something."

"Goodnight, Noah," she bites out, ending the call before he can spew anymore filth.

She crosses her legs one over the other as she lays in bed. She wonders if it was his plan all along to make her feel this way.

She thinks he's been trying to since that day in his driveway.

(He's been succeeding.)

She bites her lip hard, tries to focus on her reading. At 10:15, her book ends up on her bedside table and she turns out the light.

At 10:25, she dips her hand into her shorts. She wishes she could say she's cursing his name when she says it aloud.

But it's not like that at all.

There is no way she's ever mentioning this to him. _Ever_.


	6. Chapter 6

She can barely look at him in the hall at school the next day. She's mad at herself for giving in and doing exactly what he told her to do, exactly what he wanted. (Even if it was amazing and did take the edge off; she slept like a baby.)

But then she realizes that if she acts any differently around him, he'll know exactly why. He is not stupid, despite what he might have you believe. And he's a fairly good judge of people and their energy. The last thing she needs is him cornering her and asking for details. She thinks she'd die from embarrassment.

So when he sits next to her in calculus, she sends him a smile and he winks at her. She's surprised she doesn't blush. He taps at her knee repeated with his pencil under the desk, and she lets him. She thinks he's a little shocked. When he tugs her textbook towards him, she says nothing. When he makes a dirty comment in the margin on one of the pages, she actually laughs.

Her life would be made so much easier if she could go back to being indifferent to him. But now she actually _likes_ him.

Likes him. As in, she might possibly have romantic feelings for him.

She is in so much trouble. _He_ is so much trouble.

Their teacher excuses the students who don't need extra help ten minutes early, and surprisingly, Puck has made his way onto that list. (Again, he's not stupid.)

He follows Rachel down the hall to her locker. Lunch is next, but he's got other plans. He doesn't want to be at school anymore. And he needs to force her to do a couple things to make up for yesterday.

"I've got some stuff for you to do. I totally got the shaft yesterday," he states.

She laughs a little bit, stops fussing with the books in her locker. "You..." She stops herself, and she can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks.

He's totally on to her. She can tell. He raises his brow. "You were going to make a sex joke."

"I stopped myself."

"You just almost made a _gay_ sex joke, which is even more hilarious, because you're always so PC. This is fucking great!" he says happily. She covers her face with her hands. "I knew hanging out with me would make you even more awesome."

She looks up at him again. "You think I'm awesome?"

He rolls his eyes. Shit. He didn't mean to say that.

"If you tell me what you were going to say, you will be."

"Not a chance."

"C'mon, babe. Tell me," he says. His hand is suddenly running down her arm. "You know you want to."

"Honestly, Noah, your powers of persuasion leave much to be desired. I'm not going to tell you just because you have your hand on my arm."

She's challenging him now? Bad idea. Or good idea, depending on who you ask.

His arm snakes around her waist and he hauls her towards him. He doesn't care that the friction and her looking up at him with those fucking crazy-gorgeous eyes is likely to make him totally hard. He kind of wants her to understand what she does to him.

"Tell me," he says. He pushes her shirt up a little at the small of her back so his fingertips can rest on the warm skin there. "I'll make you talk."

"Noah." It comes out far more breathily than she wants it to. She doesn't even know what she's going to say, and she definitely doesn't know where her strength has gone. She should have pushed him away.

Shit. The way she says his name makes him fucking crazy sometimes. And her hand is on his shoulder, and he's pretty sure she's never, ever looked at anyone the way she's looking at him right now.

So fuck it. He's just gonna go for it.

He leans in, watches as her eyes widen, then begin to flutter closed.

Then the fucking bell rings and she springs away from him right before classroom doors start opening and people filter into the halls.

He takes a deep breath. He almost just kissed her. She almost let him. But the way she's looking at him right now (like she wants to be able to kill him with her eyes or something) lets him know that she probably didn't really want it. In his experience, people will pretty much kiss anyone if they're in the right situation. It's a theory he's tested.

"Skip the afternoon with me," he says.

She glares a little harder. "No."

"Wasn't a request, Rach," he tells her.

"I can't just skip class, Noah. I won't. This little game of yours isn't going to interfere with my schooling, and you're crazy if you think otherwise."

He reaches for her wrist and tugs her towards him, and she lets out a frustrated breath, pulling her arm from his hold. "You're top of the class. All that's happening now is exam review, and I know you can't be worried about missing that."

"I am!"

"I've seen your notes. They're better than the teachers'. You don't need review."

"Noah, I'm not skipping class."

"Yeah, you are," he says. He smirks and leans down close to talk to her. "And it's just gonna be you and me alone." She's glaring when he pulls away. God, it's easy to push her buttons. She just has so many of them. "Meet me at my truck in 15."

"Noah!"

He walks away, doesn't turn around or acknowledge her at all.

The very scary part is that she actually wants to skip and spend time with him. She's never wanted to skip class before in her life. She's certainly never wanted to because of a boy. Noah seems to be getting her to break all her rules.

She feels terrible when she calls her daddy at work and tells him she's not feeling well, asks if he can call the school and excuse her from her afternoon classes. He's happy to do it, says he'll try to get home from work before six to check up on her. He tells her to call him if she needs anything and asks how she's getting home from school.

"Noah's going to drive me," she says. She figures she can at least tell the truth about that.

"Oh." She can hear the amusement in his voice. She's been waiting for the questions about Noah to start. "And just what is going on between you two?"

"We're friends, Daddy," she insists. She thinks that might be another lie. "I have to go, though. He's waiting."

"Feel better, Bunny."

She laughs at herself as she hangs up the phone. She can't believe she just did that.

Puck's waiting by his truck and he watches her walk from the school with her backpack over her shoulder and her black pleated skirt swaying. She's pulled off the button down shirt she was wearing, and now she's just got a light purple tank top on. He can see the pale pink of her bra strap over her shoulder. It's not crazy to wonder if her underwear matches.

He wants her so bad. He will have her by the time this week is up. He _will_.

"I hate you a little bit right now," she says, tossing her bag carelessly into the truck bed. "I just lied to my father."

"What?" he laughs. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because I needed him to get me excused from class!"

He smiles and shakes his head. Amateur.

"Babe, you just _don't go to class_. All they do is give you a detention. Doesn't go on your record that way and they don't tell your parents since detentions are at lunch now instead of after school."

She scowls at him. "It is remarkable that you know that. And that you exercise this routine so often."

"Get in," he says, smiling at her. She does as she's told. Once he's in the truck, she stops pouting so damn much.

"So what exactly are we doing?" she asks.

He glances over at her as he stops at the exit of the parking lot. "Whatever we want, Rachel. That's the point."

"Well, what is it that you want?" She turns toward him a little bit, and he's clearly holding back whatever sexual remark he wants to make.

(He seriously considers telling her he wants her naked and on top of him, begging him to fuck her senseless. He thinks that might be crossing a line or whatever.)

"You'll see."

She's oddly proud of him for biting his tongue.

They end up at the mall, and she looks at him like he's crazy, but he rolls his eyes and gets out of the truck, starts walking away before she's even got her seatbelt off. She makes sure the doors are locked before running after him. The first thing he does is head for the food court. She's pretty surprised when he buys her lunch. Her salad is nothing like his double cheeseburger, fries and coke, but she doesn't say anything about it.

He pulls her into this skate and surf shop or something, which she thinks is just ridiculous because no one surfs in Ohio. But he grabs a couple pairs of board shorts and a couple tee shirts, then points her in the direction of the girls' section.

"Noah, what..."

"Just pick something."

"I just bought a new bathing suit."

"Well, now you're gonna buy another one," he says, smirking at her. He's standing in the fitting room with the curtain open, and he pulls his shirt over his head.

He laughs when she rushes over and pulls the curtain across. The boy has no shame whatsoever.

She figures she can afford to have another bathing suit. It never hurts. She doesn't necessarily need another, but maybe it's not the worst idea. And there's a very cute pink and purple plaid bikini that she spots from across the store and picks up in her size.

She's in the fitting room, looking at herself in the mirror when she hears his voice outside.

"Show me," he says.

"No!" Clearly he doesn't know what goes into girls trying on bathing suits. It's not a sexy process whatsoever.

"Fine. Hurry up, though."

"I wasn't aware we were in a rush to get on with our truancy. Forgive me." He laughs a little bit. "Give me a moment."

"Wear it out, alright?" he asks. "Pull the tag off and pay. I'll be outside."

She does not like following orders. He's getting better at sounding less demanding.

He toys with the ties at the back of her neck, taking in the pattern and the fact that this bikini is obviously just as tiny as her other one. She doesn't even swat his hand away.

He wonders if she's still down for kissing, or if that was a one time thing, like she didn't know it was going to happen.

Given the way she's barely talking to him, he's pretty sure she doesn't want to try that shit again.

They get back into the truck and he doesn't yell at her for fucking with the radio. He supposes he can let her listen to whatever she wants, since she's totally blowing off school (which honestly, he thought was going to be a way harder sell than it ended up being) to hang out with him. And no, this isn't really slavery, but he doesn't want to be at school, and he doesn't want to be alone, and the company of a hot girl is always a good thing.

He gives her a little credit. It's 10 minutes before she asks where they're going.

A couple minutes later, he's pulling into the Sev and asking her if she has any requests. She's caught off guard, so she shakes her head and he tells her to stay put. She figures she should listen. He comes out after about ten minutes with a bottle of sunscreen tucked beneath his arm and two slushies in his hands. She assumed he'd have those. He hands her one of the cups wordlessly, pulls the straw from behind his ear and literally tosses it at her. She huffs and he buckles his seatbelt as he backs out of his parking space.

"There's this sweet park at the edge of town. I clean the pool there. Just opened. 'S'fuckin' sweet," he says.

"We're going to a pool?" she asks, eyes clouded with doubt.

"It's crazy hot out. We're young and sexy. It'd be a crime to be in school right now."

"You realize we could have just stopped at our houses and gotten bathing suits," she says.

"My mom has the neighbours spy. If I'm home during the day, I fuckin' get grounded. Shit's not cool," he explains. She rolls her eyes, wonders how many times he's been caught already. "This place should be totally empty right now."

"Yes, Noah, because regular people are at school or work, not lying and skipping out on their responsibilities," she says seriously.

"Would you relax?" he asks. "God, you're fuckin' tense. You either need to get laid or...No. You need to get laid."

She glares at him and debates hitting him. He's always saying things like that.

And the more he says them, the more she wonders if it's some kind of offer.

She ignores it, because she knows if he's offering it to her, he's most likely offering it to some other girl(s), too. She does not need to get caught up in that kind of drama. Never mind the fact that she hasn't seen him with a girl in weeks, and certainly not in the last few days, since he's been spending the majority of his time making her do things for him. Well, that isn't entirely true. She knows the only reason he went to her dance class was to lay some kind of claim to her in front of Jonathan, but she didn't hate that he was there. She liked catching his eye or seeing him watching her in the mirror. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't think about Jonathan's innocent misunderstanding. Had Noah really looked like her boyfriend? And why doesn't that bother her?

"I'm not going to respond to that claim," she says.

"That's not a denial."

"It's not a confirmation, either," she says, glancing at him. He chuckles softly.

Oh, yeah. She totally needs to get laid.

She sings along with the radio the rest of the distance, reads the ingredients list on the bottle of sunscreen he bought. SPF 30, which she's thankful for. She wasn't sure what kind of skin care products would be sold at a 7-11, but this will do in a pinch. Clearly, if she'd known she was going to spend the evening outside, she would have brought her own sunscreen and protective lip balm. But she supposes spontaneity is what he's going for, here, and it might not be the worst thing in the world to just go with it for once.

He's got his shirt off practically before he's out of the truck. He tosses it back into the cab through the open window, tips his aviators back down over his eyes. The park is completely empty, save for a very bored looking lifeguard who's reading a magazine atop the lifeguard's chair.

He doesn't wait for her to follow him, just knows she will. He's pretty sure she's still, like, nervous to be around him while she's wearing a bikini, but really, he doesn't mind. Not at all. In fact, if that was all she wanted to wear ever, he'd be alright. Okay, maybe he'd miss the skirts. Those things are pretty awesome and sometimes basically nonexistent.

What was he thinking about?

Right. He can hear her flip flops hitting her heels, so he knows she's right behind him. As soon as he's inside the fence that surrounds the pool, he finds the two lounge chairs furthest away from the lifeguard station (he doesn't need this obviously douchey college dude hitting on his girl...on Rachel) and sits down.

"Off with it," he says, gesturing to her clothing when she's standing in front of him.

"I'm getting very tired of you bossing me around." It's very true. She'll be glad when this week is over and she can have her life back.

But then she takes off her tank top and unzips her skirt at the back, shimmying her hips until she can pull it off. She folds both items neatly and sets them at the foot of the lounge chair, then adjusts the bottoms of her bathing suit. She's not paying attention to him at all until she sees that he's staring. Really, really staring.

"What?" she asks, though she's fairly certain she knows the answer.

He thinks he might die if he doesn't have sex with her soon. _Die_.

"'S'good."

"Good?" She hates the uncertainty in her voice. She knows how attractive she is. She keeps her body in great shape. She thinks she just wants to hear him say it.

The way his eyes are fixed on her stomach, hips, legs, she thinks it might be better than good. She's close enough to him that when he stands, he's right in front of her. His hands slide up her torso, his thumbs brushing the string at the side, just next to her breasts. She tries not to suck in a breath.

"Really fuckin' good." She bites her bottom lip. He thinks she's just trying to tease him now. He grabs the bottle of sunscreen and hands it to her. "Do my back."

She actually laughs and shakes her head as they look at one another. "That's such a clichéd excuse to get me to touch you, Noah," she says, and she doesn't know where that confidence comes from.

"Don't worry, baby," he says, laying down on his stomach on the lounge chair. "I get to do you next."

Oh, yeah. He thought this shit through.

She doesn't quite know what to say.

She doesn't quite know how to go about this, either. He's broad, taking up almost the entire width of the slim lounge chair. She can't sit next to him. She could sit on top of him, but...

"Noah, if you sit up, I..."

"Nope," he interrupts. "You can straddle me, Rach. You weight like, 100 pounds. Pretty sure you won't break me."

"I'm not entirely comfortable with this," she admits.

"I won't hold it against you," he says. She hates him sometimes for being so nonchalant about absolutely everything. "Come on. I don't want to burn."

She lets out a sigh, shakes her head and rests one knee on the chair, slings the other over his back and sits herself down on the top of his thighs. She can only see half of his face, but he is most definitely smiling.

She squeezes some sunscreen onto her hands and rubs them together to warm it up. She's considerate, even when he isn't. And the low noise he lets out when she runs her hands over his back most definitely _does not _make her skin flush pink. It's not as though she's an expert or anything, but she's had enough massages in her life to know some of the basic techniques, so she employs them as she smoothes the sunscreen over his back evenly.

"You're really good at this," he says, and his voice is lower than he wants it to be. He can't help it. Her fucking hands are like magic.

She gets the last of the white liquid to disappear, kneads his shoulders one last time, then pulls herself off him. "You can get the front yourself."

He rolls onto his side and grins at her. "Can I get your front, too?"

"You're gross. No."

He rolls his eyes, even though he's wearing sunglasses and she won't see. "Fine. But lay down."

She lets out a huff and does as she's told. "I'm only obliging because sun damage is no laughing matter, and I take this kind of thing very seriously."

"Whatever. You just want my hands on your hot little body."

There's that feeling again. She really needs to learn how to control that around him, the feeling deep in her stomach that makes her want to let her guard down and just let him have his way with her.

And if the way his hands are moving over the small of her back, working upward, is any indication, she's sure she wouldn't be disappointed. She doesn't even flinch or say a word when his hands tuck under the tie of her bikini top to cover her entire back in sunscreen.

It's when his hands hit the back of her thigh that she jumps off the chair at an alarming speed.

"What are you doing!" she cries. He laughs. That certainly doesn't help.

"Covering you up, darlin'. Don't want you to get burnt."

"I am perfectly capable of covering my own legs, thank you." She grabs the bottle of sunscreen and squirts some onto her palm.

He lays down on the lounge chair and puts one arm behind his head. "As long as you let me watch," he says slyly.

She certainly can't stop him. She knows that much. And she doesn't even really mind the way he watches her from where he's sitting. She finds she likes that he thinks she's attractive. Of course she does. What girl doesn't want to feel that someone wants her?

But he doesn't want her. He just thinks she's 'hot', apparently. She'll take it.

(She thinks she'd take more, too.)

Once they're both sufficiently covered in sunblock (she insists he put it on his face, too, though he argues and rolls his eyes and thumbs a streak of white across her cheek just to piss her off), he takes off his sunglasses, drops them on his chair, and dives into the pool.

And it's very difficult not to appreciate his form as he does it. He's almost _graceful_. She watches him under water, too, his arms propelling him to the surface, then to the side of the pool. Lord help her, she's attracted to him so strongly it scares her.

"Come in," he says.

"Do I get a choice?" she asks. She's already standing up.

He smirks at her as he rests his forearms on the edge of the pool. "What do you think?"

She adjusts her bottoms (she doesn't miss the way his eyes seem to linger on that area again) and steps closer to the pool. "I don't dive."

"What? Why?"

"Because." She sits herself down at the edge, then lowers herself into the water. She has to admit, this feels amazing, the cool water soothing her heated skin. And it's definitely better than being in history class right now.

After she comes up out of the water, he's still looking at her questioningly. "Why don't you dive?" he asks.

There's something about the way she's acting that lets him know this isn't just some weird Rachel Berry crazily justified thing she'll use a billion words to explain until he says he understands just to get her to stop fucking talking. She actually has a good reason. Obviously one that's difficult to talk about. It's weird, but he thinks he wants to, like, help her. Or whatever. Not that he probably can, but still.

"When I was little, my aunt and uncle lived here with my two cousins," she explains after pushing her hair back off her forehead. She's got her elbows back behind her, supporting her on the edge of the pool. He only looks at her boobs like, once, which is pretty fucking impressive, since they're pushed out like that. "They had this big pool in their back yard. You know the big red brick place on Lawson?" He nods. "They used to live there."

"I clean that pool," he tells her. "'S'nice."

"Yes, well, we used to swim there all the time, obviously," she says. "My cousins were both boys. I was eight and they were 10 and 12."

"Okay?" he draws out.

"I'm an excellent swimmer, Noah," she says seriously, and he laughs a little as he nods. As if there was any doubt she'd be _good_ at something. "We were playing around one day and I dove in, and Jason dove in right after me. He landed on me. Right on me."

"Shit."

"It was terrifying. I was stuck underwater, pushed down further, and, since this was before my impeccable breath control was developed, I was running out of air." He's pretty sure her cousin Jason is a total fucking moron. "By the time I got to the surface, my lungs were aching and my muscles were sore, and there was a bruise forming on my back from where he hit me. They thought it was funny. Daddy was traumatized."

"Apparently you were, too, if you can't even dive anymore," he points out. He's not even trying to be a dick about it or anything. He actually thinks he's being sympathetic or something. It's weird.

"Yes, well. Just better safe than sorry. I know it's a horribly lame reason, but..."

"Naw," he says, shrugging one shoulder. "'S'fucked up. You were little. Shit's scarier when you're a kid."

The smile she gives him is insane, really. Not in a _'shit, I need to check my closet to make sure you're not there when I go to bed' _way. In a_ 'fuck, we might actually understand one another and this smile means you think so, too' _way.

"Do you have any irrational fears?" she asks, pushing herself off the wall, treading water in front of him. He turns around, moves closer to her and does the same. "From when you were little?"

"Tell anyone and I'll kill you," he says seriously. She smiles as she nods. "I mean it. I'll fucking destroy you."

Empty threats. They both know it.

"Promise," she says.

"I fucking hate thunderstorms," he admits.

She's impressed. He doesn't even sound ashamed about it. "Really?"

"Yup. Can't stand 'em. I don't even know why."

"Sometimes our fears aren't justifiable, Noah," she says.

He's still thinking about it as she starts kicking her legs, pushing herself away from him on her back.

...

They're laying side by side on lounge chairs, her on her stomach and him on his back. He looks over every so often and takes in the lines of her body, smooth angles and soft contours. Her ass looks incredible, her hair in a wet, messy knot, the ties of her bathing suit teasing her sides. She's just so gorgeous.

And the funny thing is, the more he learns about her, the more he likes her. Generally, with girls, it's the opposite. He likes them until they start talking to him, until they start expecting him to do anything other than get them off. That shit isn't what he signs up for. It's totally different with Rachel. He's actually getting to know her without having slept with her. And he's not even just listening because it'll help him get into her pants. He doesn't know for sure if that'll even happen, no matter how confident he is. He just like, digs hearing her stories or whatever.

Having a slave was supposed to be some kick ass thing that would make him even more badass. It's not supposed to make him think about his feelings and shit.

"If you were anyone else, your staring would be unnerving," she says.

"What's that mean?"

She rolls onto her back again, looks over at him. "It means you're just the kind of boy who stares."

He thinks that's bullshit.

"Only if I've got something hot to stare at," he tells her. That shit's no lie, either. "It's kind of a shame no one understands how fucking gorgeous you are, Rach."

"I've always thought so," she says. He laughs and stands up, grabbing his keys off the ground. It's nearly 4:00. She can't believe they've spent an entire afternoon together, swimming and laying in the sun. She's enjoyed herself. Far too much, maybe. "We're going?"

"I gotta go to the gym with Matt and Chang tonight," he says. "We go every Thursday. Boxing."

Her mind is flooded with images of him boxing, sweaty, relentless, chest heaving.

"That sounds dangerous," she says as they start back towards the truck.

"Totally safe. There're trainers there and stuff," he says. "Why? Worried about me?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "I just wouldn't want you to suffer brain damage. I'm fairly certain your mental capacity..."

"Yeah, yeah," he laughs, cutting her off. He slings an arm around her shoulder and pulls her towards him, holding her there for a few minutes as they walk. He unlocks the door and jogs around to the driver's side. "I might call you later."

She spins around to look at him. "Why?"

"Might have something for you to do."

She's been hanging around him too much. Her first thought is a very dirty one. She never thinks about dirty things. Well, she never used to. Apparently she does now.

"I'm supposed to be sick, remember?"

He grins and glances at her after backing out of his parking space. "I'd say you're looking pretty good," he says.

She's sitting next to him in his truck wearing a bikini top and the tiniest skirt ever. No shirt.

_Pretty good_ doesn't even begin to describe it.

...

Noah calls her around 8:00 and tells her to come over. She doesn't even get a chance to ask what he wants from her before he hangs up. She wishes she'd had time to ask him what on earth she's supposed to tell her parents. She's already convinced them she's fine, that her stomach was just upset earlier, and she had a headache. After telling them she took a couple Advil, them taking her temperature and feeding her chicken soup and bread for dinner, they deduced that it was just something she ate, that she's fine.

So when she walks down the stairs wearing jeans and a purple tee shirt, they look at her strangely. She's been in pajamas all evening.

"Where are you going?" Daddy asks.

"You know Santana, don't you?" They nod. "Well, we're in history together, and she was nice enough to get my homework for me. Apparently there's a partner project and she chose me, since I wasn't there. I'm going over there to work on it."

They seem to think it over for a moment, then Dad nods and Daddy gets up, walks over and kisses her forehead. "Be careful, Bunny. If you start feeling ill again, have her drive you home, okay? I don't want you driving if you're distracted."

"Okay, Daddy. I will."

She's going to kill Noah for making her lie so much in one day.

(She's ignoring the little thrill she gets every time someone believes her. That can't be a good thing.)

...

He's waiting at the door when she gets there, which she thinks is pretty strange. She would have thought for sure he'd be sitting around and she'd have to let herself in or he'd just shout to her to come in.

"Hey," he says. She wonders why his voice sounds lower than usual. "Mom's working. Hannah just went to bed." Rachel smiles as she slips off her sandals and sets down her bag. "What?"

"Nothing," she says quietly. "It's just nice that you take care of your family."

He shrugs his shoulder, but there's a little smile on his face. "Someone has to."

She thinks it's a responsibility he doesn't really mind.

"So," she says after a moment, "why did you call me over?"

She definitely doesn't hate the way he's got his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, the way his black v-neck tee shirt looks on him. She can't tell if her life would be simpler or more difficult were he less attractive.

And she wishes she could stop thinking about how he almost kissed her, wondering if it's something he genuinely wants, or if it was just something he was going to do because the moment presented itself and he's the kind of guy who takes advantage of things like that.

He's just standing there thinking she looks super hot in a pair of jeans. And yeah, that's something he's thought about a hundred times before.

"I got laundry that needs to be done," he says, smirking at her

"I thought you didn't want me looking at your underwear," she says. She raises her brow and shit, she's fun when she's feisty.

"Only a matter of time," he says cockily, winking at her. She rolls her eyes, but she's still smiling. "I even took my hamper to the laundry room for you and everything."

"Aww. You shouldn't have," she says sarcastically. He actually laughs.

"That way."

He gestures down the hall toward the laundry room and she takes a deep breath. He smacks her ass for good measure and laughs when she glares.

So kill him for wanting to touch her ass.

He's watching 30 Rock, sprawled out on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table when she comes back to the living room after starting the first load of laundry.

"There were a couple of Hannah's things in the basket in the laundry room. I tossed them in with your stuff," she explains. She takes a pretzel from the bowl on his lap.

"You didn't have to do that," he says.

She shrugs her shoulder. "It's not like I'm not doing work anyway," she says, laughing softly.

"You uh...you want anything?" he asks. He's very aware of how close she's sitting to him. There's a whole couch, practically, and she's sitting with about two inches of space between them.

"Pardon me?"

"Drink? Snack? I dunno," he says, shrugging one shoulder.

She laughs, but she thinks it's nice of him to not just tell her to take care of herself. "I'm fine, thank you."

Sometime after she puts the clothes in the dryer, before he starts watching reruns of CSI on A&E, Rachel falls asleep. Against his shoulder. And her hand falls to his thigh. Like, basically two inches from his junk. And see, the thing is, he totally wants her to touch his junk (um, hello; _obviously_) but she's kind of just adorable, too. Her hair's in a ponytail like she only ever wears it outside of school, and her legs are tucked up on the couch so her thigh is pressed against his and her feet are tucked under a pillow. He wants to put his arm around her (like a total pansy) but he knows that if he moves, she'll wake up. And if she wakes up, she'll realize how late it is. And if she realizes how late it is, she'll leave. So he settles for just putting his hand on her thigh, right next to her knee, and even that's pretty awesome.

So he's just enjoying the way she's sitting there next to him, because apparently he's turned into a total fucking girl in the last 15 minutes, and then her phone rings and she jumps away from him so fast his head almost spins.

She answers, and it's her dad, of course, and she can't believe she's lost track of time like this. It's nearly 11:00. She's always in bed by 10:00. Her fathers must have known she would be out a little later, but this is pushing it, she knows. She hangs up after saying she'll be home soon, and turns back to Noah, who is now standing, running a hand over his head. Her heart may or may not skip a beat.

"You don't need me to fold your stuff, do you?" she asks. He can't tell if she's being serious or not.

"I wouldn't mind," he says. She laughs and shakes her head. "But don't worry about it."

"Really?" she asks, surprised.

"Don't want you to get grounded or something," he says, smirking as he follows her to the door. "I've still got two full days to take advantage of you."

Their eyes lock after he's said it, and neither of them seems to want to break eye contact first. Neither of them wants to point out just what could be interpreted from what he's said.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Noah," she says quietly.

"Later, babe."

He winks before she walks out the door.

Her body feels hot all over. It annoys her that she's getting used to feeling this way around him.


	7. Chapter 7

So, after Rachel leaves his house, Puck lays in bed and thinks about her.

This is nothing new. He's gotten used to it.

The new part? It's not even a bunch of sexual thoughts that have him hard and groaning her name.

She just fell asleep on his shoulder like...like a fucking girlfriend or something. And he didn't even push her away or wake her up or tell her to get the fuck off. (He really does like to cuddle, okay?)

And shit, the idea of her actually being his girlfriend really, really isn't the worst thing ever. At all. She'd be an awesome one. He knows this week doesn't really count for anything, because he's like, forcing her to do stuff instead of her wanting to. But he's pretty sure that if they were actually together, she'd do awesome stuff for him. Just like, girlfriendy stuff.

And sex. She'd probably do that, too. (Not that it's the only reason she'd want to date her or whatever.)

The closest thing he's ever had to a girlfriend was Santana, really. And she was shit awful. Fucking terrible. Selfish and bitchy and she didn't do shit all for him. And she wanted him to do everything for her, which he said no to (obvs), and that just pissed her off and made her withhold the one thing he actually found her useful for. So yeah, that was pretty fucking brutal.

And then there was Quinn, but they were more like friends who held hands than anything else. They didn't even kiss or whatever. She certainly didn't take care of his manly needs, and she got all pissed and preachy when he asked.

Mercedes? Well, he didn't even make out with her. That was for appearances only, that whole thing.

But when he dated Rachel? Shit. They kissed like crazy and talked (her) and tried to get under the clothes (him) and she was totally sweet and stuff. She cleaned him off when he got slushied, and cared about what he thought and felt. It was like she actually _liked_ him.

It wasn't so bad, really.

He thinks it'd be even better this time around. (And only partly because she's not a blushing virgin anymore.)

Anyway. He's got an idea.

Not to get Rachel. He can work that out when he's not trying so hard to take advantage of the fact that she's his slave.

He texts Matt, Mike and Finn, then he figures he can text Artie and shit, even Kurt, too.

Boy's night.

And how does Rachel factor into this?

Oh, he's got it _all_ figured out.

...

Rachel wakes up in the middle of the night from a dream about Noah.

It's not the first time.

This time, for the first time, she's awake long after. She refuses to do what he's so inappropriately suggested she do. (She's given in to that before.)

Anyway, it wasn't _that_ kind of dream.

In this dream, they were just sleeping. _Sleeping_. Together on her bed. She was in a satin nightgown and he was wearing just his boxers, and she was laying in his arms with her head on his chest. Her leg was over his and they were in the middle of the bed. It wasn't even like it was _her_ in the dream. She wasn't feeling it. It was like she was watching the dream from above or something. Very strange.

It takes her ages to fall asleep, because she can't stop thinking about how badly she wants that, him, in that real, big way.

It's scary how much things have changed in less than a week.

...

Puck's pretty surprised when he walks into school on Friday and sees Rachel and Santana talking. _Again_.

Shit. He's trying to decide if them being friends is good or bad for him. He honestly doesn't know.

"Get the fuck outta here, Lopez," he says, smacking Santana's ass as he approaches. Rachel looks appalled. Santana just narrows her eyes (he can tell when she means it and when she doesn't; she's totally faking), then snaps her wrist towards his crotch in a way that makes him turn his torso so she doesn't actually hit him. "Bitch."

"Dick."

"You know you want it," he says.

"Been there, done that. Got the clean bill of health from the clinic," she says, turning back to Rachel. "See you in history."

Rachel's still too stunned to talk. Puck just laughs. He kind of digs that he and Santana bust each others' balls like this. They're friends or whatever. They work better this way than they have any other way.

"Brought you something," he tells Rachel. He sees the little smile on her lips. He pulls his bright red football jersey from his backpack and hands it to her. She looks at it like it's some weird, foreign object.

"What is this?" she asks. She likes it, this red fabric, the number 20 on the back and arms.

"Your uniform," he tells her. Now she's even more confused. She gets this little dimple right between her eyebrows when she's confused. Fucking adorable. "My house. 6:00. Don't be late."

"Noah."

"Later, doll," he says quietly, running his hand over her elbow before he walks away.

Shit. That totally felt like another boyfriend/girlfriend moment.

He didn't hate that one either.

He _needs_ to make her his. Needs to.

...

He's halfway to the parking lot to fuck around with Mike and Matt when he hears little footsteps coming up behind him, then a girly voice saying his name.

But he's not lucky enough for it to be Rachel.

"Puck!"

He turns around. "'Sup, Kurt?" Puck asks.

"So, I received your text. I must say..."

Puck rolls his eyes. He honestly doesn't know how Kurt and Rachel aren't friends. They're practically the same person. "You coming tonight or what?"

"Yes. Do I need to bring anything? Face masks? Magazines?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. We're watching a _game_, dude."

Kurt giggles. Fucking _giggles_. "I know. I was joking."

"Don't worry about bringing shit. I've got it covered," Puck says.

He walks away before Kurt can ask any more fucking questions.

Besides, he's got a girl who's gonna make sure the guys have everything they could possibly need.

And she's gonna look hot doing it.

He gets to his truck and sees Mike and Matt already there. Since it's just the middle of the morning, they've got coffees instead of slushies, and Mike hands him one, which he takes happily. He takes a long sip and pulls down the tailgate of his truck so he has somewhere to sit.

"So what's with the sudden guy's night? Rachel a little harder to bed than you thought?" Mike asks with a grin.

Puck rolls his eyes. "Fuck you. It's only been a few days. Mom's working. Hannah's gonna be in her room, whether she likes it or not. Indians are playing and I just happen to have someone who can make sure we're well fed."

"Dude," Matt says, shaking his head. "You're such an ass. You're really putting Rachel through all this?"

"Come on," Puck scoffs. "I'm not making her do anything crazy. Just like, chores and stuff. And taking care of me and my boys on a Friday night."

Mike starts laughing. "You realize how that sounds, right?"

"It's not like that," Puck insists. His jaw clenches at the thought of anyone else touching her.

Fuck. He's got a problem. Seriously.

"Should be fun," Matt says. "Just don't expect me to boss her around or anything. I just can't do that."

Puck looks at Matt, wondering if the dude actually has feelings for Rachel or something, if that's going to become a problem. Because honestly, Puck and Matt are close. Closer than most people probably think. Matt kind of became a surrogate (then not-so-surrogate) best friend when Finn wasn't talking to Puck. They've bonded and shit, and Puck would never steal a girl Matt was interested in.

He'd like to think Matt wouldn't steal a girl Puck was interested in, either.

And besides, Puck saw Rachel first. And he called dibs. That shit counts.

But he wants to make sure, and he kind of wants to get this off his chest, that he like, actually _wants_ Rachel, wants her to be his girlfriend.

"So, look," Puck says. He realizes he sounds nervous. He is a little nervous. He doesn't usually (ever) talk about his feelings and shit. "I uh...I'm kind of into her."

Mike looks over. "Rachel?"

"Yeah, Rachel," Puck says, rolling his eyes. Who else have they been talking about? "She's cool, you know? She's a fucking sweetheart."

He makes a mental note to add that to the list of nicknames he uses.

"You want to be with her or whatever?" Mike asks. He doesn't make it sound like it's a terrible idea, so Puck is pretty happy about that.

"Yeah. I think so," Puck admits. "Which is really fucking weird, because she's like, Rachel and stuff. She's bossy and annoying and she talks all the fucking time."

"Don't say all this in your pitch to get her," Matt laughs. He doesn't seem pissed or anything. That's another good thing.

"I'm just saying. It shouldn't make sense, but it totally does," Puck insists. "She doesn't take my bullshit and dude, she's hilarious when she wants to be. I just like her."

"So you don't just want to fuck her and chuck her," Mike states for clarification.

Puck glares. But yeah, that was kind of his philosophy for a while. "No."

Matt shrugs, drinks the last of his coffee. "Go for it." Mike nods in agreement. "Think about it, man. A bet's a bet, but she wouldn't be putting up with all this if she didn't like hanging out with you, too. She's dealt with a ton of your shit and she doesn't seem to hate you yet."

Puck thinks about it. They're right. Rachel could say no and there'd be nothing he could do to get her to change her mind. He knows all this. She's fucking stubborn, just like him. She's got a ton of pride and fuckin'..._gumption._ (SAT word, and no, he's not a total slacker with that stuff; just 'cause he hates high school doesn't mean he doesn't want to make something of himself.)

Then he remembers her being asleep next to him. Running his hands over her back as she wore a bikini. Almost kissing her. The look on her face when she jokes around with him.

Now he's got some kind of fucked up confirmation from his buddies that it's not a terrible idea. All signs point to this being a real thing. He's a little fucking terrified and it hasn't even happened yet.

...

Santana laughs when Rachel asks about the jersey. She laughs so hard her cheeks turn pink.

"What?" Rachel asks in frustration, practically stomping her foot. They're in the girl's bathroom between classes, and Santana is twirling the ends of her ponytail around her finger, making sure the curls stay up to Coach Sylvester's standards.

"You really know nothing about guys, do you?" Santana asks.

"I do too!"

"Honey," Santana says patronizingly. "Pretty much the number one thing all guys have in common that _girls_ plus _sports_ equals _hot_."

"So his jersey is..."

"Is his way of dressing you up. It's practically the same as lingerie," Santana says.

Rachel blanches. She suddenly has a horrible image in her head that she needs to erase.

"You never wore his jersey, did you?" she asks quietly. They're the only two in the room, but still.

Santana laughs again. "No. Our team is fucking terrible. It's bad enough I have to cheer for them. I don't need to wear a loser's jersey." She's smiling, so Rachel is pretty sure at least half of that was a joke. "Just relax, alright? Puck hasn't put this much effort into getting a girl since he bought Quinn a four pack of wine coolers." Rachel glares in the mirror. "Okay, bad example."

"You think?" Rachel mumbles.

"Rachel, if you actually like Puck? Just...I can't believe I'm going to say this to you...but be yourself."

"Myself in his clothes, acting out some twisted fantasy he has," Rachel says.

Santana turns so they're facing one another. "Trust me," she says seriously. "Puck _will_ make it worth your while." Rachel blushes. "Wait, you aren't...You're not a virgin, are you?"

"What? No!" Rachel says laughingly. She doesn't know why she's laughing, exactly. Sex is no laughing matter.

The warning bell rings as Santana nods. "Well, we'll talk about _that_ later. I have to get to geo. Just relax, alright? There are worse things he can do than wear his jersey. You'll probably look hot in it anyway."

She leaves the room, and Rachel wonders if all girls' friendships consist of comments like that, or if it's just a Santana thing.

...

Puck spends the better part of his business class (which is total horseshit, but they use computers, so he generally just plays Free Cell and pretends to pay attention) working on a little something of his own. He's hovered over his notebook, his hand working to get everything just right.

He slips the piece of paper into Rachel's locker when he passes it in the hall on his way to the caf for lunch. This is going to be great.

...

Rachel and Finn are talking, walking from their shared physics class, and they stop at her locker. She's a little surprised when a piece of paper falls out onto the floor. It's folded up like the popular kids always do, into a tight little triangle with her name scrawled on the front in all caps. Finn touches her shoulder, tells her he has to go and he'll see her later. She nods distractedly as she unfolds the note and smoothes out the paper.

It's a drawing of a girl, Rachel's name on the bottom of the page, her hair long and, apparently, very curly at the bottoms (it's basically just scribbles). She's wearing a jersey with the number 20 on it, and a pair of criminally tiny shorts. They're practically underwear. There's another likeness which shows her from behind, backside barely covered and jersey tied in a knot at the small of her back. The word _Uniform_ is printed and underlined twice, pointing to the shorts.

She could kill him. She really could.

Every time she thinks she might see something more in him than just the over-sexed teenaged boy, he does something to prove her wrong.

...

She marches into the caf and over to the table he's sitting at with Mike, Matt and Finn. Santana and Brittany are there, too, and Rachel is pissed. Visibly pissed.

Puck smirks. She got his note.

She slams the paper down on the table in front of him, and he basically loves the way her boobs press against his back as she leans down behind him.

"_What_ is _this_?" she asks, jabbing sharply at the paper with her index finger.

"Pretty self-explanatory," he says as he turns his head to look at her.

She lets out a growl of frustration, grabs the back of his collar, and leans down, speaking in his ear. "You are a dirty, disgusting boy, Noah, and I cannot _wait_ until I no longer have to deal with this absurdity."

But she's pressed against his back, and her breath is on his skin, and he's pretty sure he felt her lips on his ear once or twice in there. And she called him a dirty boy.

That was fucking _hot_.

"Whatever you say, babe," he says, because he doesn't really know what else to say, and his thought process at the moment is basically limited to things he wants to do with his dick.

She grabs the piece of paper, crumpling it in her fist, and turns on her heel, hair and skirt swishing around as she struts off.

He looks back his friends. Santana is just shaking her head. Brittany is oblivious. Finn is confused. Matt is laughing.

"Smooth," Mike says.

Puck shrugs his shoulders and eats a fry. He doesn't need to be smooth. He thinks if he can get her all pissy like that, then seduce her, the tension will make for a mind blowing orgasm, and he is _all over_ that shit.

(But fuck. Is she _really_ pissed?)

...

She ignores him him for the rest of the day. Seriously. When he passes her in the hall and he tries to even make eye contact, she looks the other way, grabs Quinn's arm and starts talking about fucking _whatever_. Puck just rolls his eyes. When Santana laughs at him and tells him he's an idiot, he flips her off and tells her to mind her fucking business.

Apparently (or so she tells him) now that she and Rachel are friends, it _is_ her business. Well, fuck. That complicates things, even if he thinks it's bullshit. Mostly because it means that Santana is constantly going to be all up in his business, and frankly, he'd just gotten rid of her.

Whatever. If she's going to be a fucking pain in his ass, he's at least going to try to get her to be useful.

"Yo!" he calls after her. She's on her way to the library because she has study hall this period. He has...something. Whatever.

"Can I help you? Or do you have an art class to get to?" Santana asks. He rolls his eyes. Fucking women. They always _talk_ about _everything_.

"Yeah, whatever. Is she seriously that pissed?" He's got his hands tucked into his pockets and his head kind of down. He's sure he looks like some kind of nervous douchebag trying to get back on his girl's good side. But fuck, he kind of is.

"Yeah, she is," Santana says, as if it should be that obvious. "Look, you idiot, Rachel isn't like...she's not like me. She's more innocent and a little clueless, but in like, an adorable way."

"Are you into her?" he asks. He's only partly joking. He's got enough competition as it is.

She rolls her eyes. "No. But, you know...she's cool or whatever."

"So you don't want to bang her." (What? He's just being thorough!)

"Well," she says with a sly little smile. "I didn't say that."

He gapes at her.

_Too. Many. Visuals._

"Fuck off, perv," she mutters, punching his chest. He realizes she was probably joking. "Just apologize, you moron."

"Right," he says. She sighs and turns to keep walking. "Wait! How do I do that!"

She starts laughing again, stares at him as she pushes the door open. "Usually the words _'I'm sorry' _are involved."

Fuck.

He sucks at this.

...

He decides he'll get her a present. Well, _them_. He gets _them_ a present.

After school (since she's still not fucking talking to him) he goes to the mall - alone - and goes into a totally girly store. Seriously, it's fucking bullshit. There are _dresses_, and _sparkly shirts_, and he's pretty sure the two chicks in the corner are talking about the fucking_ Jonas Brothers_. But he needs to get something, and it has to be here, you know, so it'll fit her. (And yeah, he tried a less fucking terribly lame store first, but they didn't have what he needs in a small enough size.)

So fuck. He spends his hard earned money on something for her and doesn't even feel like a pussy when he walks out of the store carrying a goddamn purple bag.

He's going to get Rachel to stop being pissed. He is. Whatever it takes.

(He'll just hand her his balls in the process, because apparently that's where he's headed anyway.)

...

Santana offers to come to Rachel's after school to 'help' her or something, but Rachel knows she can get dressed on her own, especially when the outfit is, apparently, predetermined.

The thing is, as angry as she is, there's also this annoying, irresponsible part of her that just wants to please him.

And yes, she means that in a multitude of ways, including the way he probably wants most.

She doesn't know why. He has yet to do anything at all that would let her know he's worth it. (That's not exactly the truth, but it's not necessarily a lie either). He's never given her any reason to believe he wants to do anything for her other than just have some kind of physical relationship. She's not crazy enough to engage in that without some kind of commitment.

But then, she thinks, maybe she _is_. It's Noah. _Puck_. He's _built_ for encounters like that. As long as they practice safe sex, why couldn't she just let herself have an evening with him like that? She can't even deny anymore that it's what she wants. She doesn't need him to be her boyfriend, she could, in theory, just use him to scratch an itch.

She pulls on a pair of dark denim shorts with a white tank top, then pulls his jersey over her head. She actually smiles. It looks good on her, she thinks. She ties it in a knot at the back, not because his stupid drawing dictated it, but because the jersey hangs down past her shorts and she can't very well have people thinking that's all she's wearing. Her hair covers up the number at her back, and she gathers that's not necessarily the idea behind her wearing this particular piece of clothing, so she parts it and makes two long French braids so they hang over her shoulders. She touches up her mascara, swipes on some lip gloss, then pulls on a lightweight sweater so her dads won't ask questions. The shorts, they won't care about. The jersey, they'll certainly find suspect.

She doesn't know what's going to happen tonight. She heard Kurt saying something about going to Noah's house, but that doesn't seem quite right to her.

And she can't deny that she quite likes the idea of she and Noah in an empty house, him enjoying the outfit she's wearing and...

Well, she'll just have to wait and see.

When she pulls up to the house, she's not surprised to see that the only vehicle in the driveway is his. She parks next to it and hops out of her car, walks to the door and knocks.

His heart doesn't _race_, okay? His body is just gearing up to seeing her in that outfit.

He pulls the door open, and lord help him, he can't help but see her legs before seeing the rest of her. Legs, shorts, jersey. In that order.

"Pigtails?" he asks, eyebrow raised. She walks into the house, but he doesn't move. He takes one of the braids in his hand and runs his thumb over it slowly. "Sexy." And then her hand is on his stomach and she's smiling, and apparently she's not pissed anymore. "You look awesome," he says, his hand finding the smooth skin at the small of her back.

"Thanks," she says far too casually. She pushes into the house and he somehow remembers to close the door, even though his eyes are glued to her ass in those little shorts.

As much as she hated that note, she still followed its instructions.

Tonight might be difficult.

"So why am I here, exactly?" she asks. "And where is your sister?"

"She's upstairs watching movies," he explains. "She's fine." Rachel smiles and kicks off her flip flops. "And you're here because the guys are coming over and I need someone to, you know, cook and get us drinks and shit."

She rolls her eyes, but she's still grinning as she shakes her head. "You're a walking cliché, you know that?"

"Is that a bad thing?" he asks.

She seems to think about it for a moment. "Depends on what the cliché is, I suppose," she says.

God. Why does that sound so hot?

And he can't help himself. He's looking at her stomach, and she's so fucking amazing, standing there in his living room.

"You look so fucking hot. Seriously."

She actually laughs a little. "I wondered what this whole thing was about, but I assume it's some kind of sports gathering between you guys, right?" she asks.

"Yeah," he says. He spots the purple bag by the door and he's a little surprised she hasn't said anything yet. He walks over and picks it up. "I got you something."

She thinks she might be blushing or something stupid like that. "Really?" He shrugs his shoulder and hands her the bag, and she's just looking at him until he gestures for her to open it. She pulls out a pair of tall white socks with two thick red stripes around the top. "Tube socks?"

"Yup."

"You got me tube socks," she states doubtfully. He nods and she finds herself smiling. "I suppose you want me to wear these now."

"Damn right. Though it's kind of a shame to cover up those legs of yours, sweetheart," he says, looking down again. He thinks she's trying to torture him when she flexes her calf muscle, turns, and walks into the kitchen. "What are you doing?"

She hops up onto the counter, grabs a pair of scissors from the drawer, snips the little plastic tags off the socks, and pulls them on.

And yeah, he watches that all with a certain amount of appreciation. Especially when she crosses her legs one over the other and leans forward a little bit.

"So, where do you want me to start?" she asks.

There's a sly grin on his lips that makes her stomach flutter and her heart race, and little does she know that they're both wishing it was just going to be the two of them alone tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

He just looks at her for a moment as he leans back against the counter and she grates cheese for the nacho dip or whatever the fuck she's making. Her ass is fucking ridiculous in those tiny shorts, and it's really difficult not to just walk over and like, grab it. He's pretty sure that would get him slapped.

But then she keeps looking at him over her shoulder, and he knows she's catching him checking her out every time, but she doesn't say anything about it. If she really wanted him to stop, she'd tell him. He knows that much about her.

"You know, Noah, there are healthy alternatives to party food. I could put together veggies and low-fat dip, or low sodium crackers and cheese, or..."

"Rachel, it's not a fuckin' cocktail party," he says laughingly. "It's a bunch of dudes sitting around watching sports. Nachos. Wings. Potato skins. Chips. Maybe some onion rings or something."

"It's disgustingly unhealthy," she says, turning back to the counter. "But I suppose if you tell me to do something, I have to do it."

It's too much. The socks, the shorts, his number on her back, her little pigtails. Her standing in his kitchen giving him some kind of weird green light.

He walks over to where she's standing and takes her by the elbow, turning her until she's facing him. He doesn't let go, and she looks confused as she meets his eyes.

"Noah, what...?"

"Kiss me," he commands. Her cheeks turn this cute shade of pink and he doesn't know if that means she's embarrassed, turned on, or pissed.

"I...You want me to..."

"Kiss me, Rachel."

She reaches up and rests her hand on his chest, her eyes still locked with his as she takes a little step closer. Just a little further, just an inch or so on her tip toes and she'll be kissing him. She's just leaning up and she can feel his breath across her face, and she thinks this is it, this is the moment she's been waiting for.

Then the smoke alarm goes off and she jumps back from him, lets out a squeal and rushes for the oven. She pulls open the door and a little plume of smoke comes out. Puck walks over and pushes the windows above the sink open, then reaches up to shut the smoke detector off.

Cock blocked by a goddamn smoke detector. That's a first.

She's just gotten the smoke cleared, thankful that the flatbread isn't burnt, when Finn and Kurt walk into the kitchen.

"Dear sweet Lord in heaven, what are you wearing?" Kurt asks, stopping in his tracks.

Finn is stopped, too, eyebrow raised as he looks at Rachel. "You look...hot," he says.

Puck smiles proudly and looks at Rachel, who looks like she's not sure whether she should be annoyed or take the compliment.

"It smells like clogged arteries in here," Kurt notes, taking a look at the spread of food that's laid out.

"There are healthier alternatives, I promise, no matter what Noah says," Rachel insists.

Puck just rolls his eyes and grabs a couple cans of Coke from the fridge as Kurt pulls a bottle of Perrier from his bag. He reaches for a glass, then he and Finn turn to head into the living room, saying something about pregame. Well, Finn says something about pregame. Kurt just follows, and Puck hears the door open again and Mike's voice coming through the house as he says hello, then says Artie isn't coming, but Matt is on his way.

This was a terrible idea. What the fuck was he thinking inviting Rachel over in this outfit, then having other people show up? He's a fucking moron. Seriously.

He walks over to her, rests his hand on her side where his jersey is showing her skin, and leans down to speak in her ear.

"This isn't over."

She watches him walk into the living room and about 95% of her is really hoping he's not lying.

...

He walks into the kitchen about ten minutes later with a simple, normal expression on his face and stands next to her, leaning against the counter.

"Yes?" she asks.

"Can you do me a favour?" She turns to him and thinks this must be serious, because he's actually asking her nicely, and he looks...normal. (Not like he's two seconds away from seducing her.) "Hannah's up in her room. Could you just like, check on her for me every once in a while?" he asks quietly, sweetly.

Rachel smiles and nods. "Of course. Has she eaten? Does she need anything?"

"She should be fine. She ate earlier. She's just watching movies or whatever."

"Okay," Rachel says softly. "No problem."

"Thanks." He reaches out and gives her shoulder a squeeze before walking away.

She doesn't know how she could have ever been upset with this sweet, caring man.

Even though he told her Hannah had already eaten, she makes a point of taking some veggies and dip and a glass of milk up to the girl almost as soon as he's left the kitchen. She and Hannah talk a little bit about _Up_, the movie Hannah is watching, and Rachel says she'll leave the door open a crack when she leaves, and for Hannah to come down and get her if she needs anything. Hannah thanks Rachel in the sweetest little voice and goes back to crunching carrot sticks and laughing at the talking dog.

As she's walking down the hall, Rachel resists the urge to peek into Noah's bedroom. She doesn't know why it matters one way or the other.

...

If she's being honest with herself, Rachel has probably known all along, since she lost that stupid poker game, that something was going to happen with Noah. And it's not like she has given him much indication that she doesn't want it to. Sure, she's set out rules and brushed off his blatant come ons, but the subtleties of what's been going on between them? She's encouraged them, welcomed them. The looks and little smirks, not arguing him on the nicknames, their actual conversations. Yesterday at the pool was probably one of the most fun days she's ever had, and for the most part (certain activities excluded) he didn't bring up anything sexual at all.

She likes him. She likes him. She doesn't want to have sex with him, right?

Okay, yes, she very much does. It's just that now that she knows him better, has seen inside his world a little bit, she wants so much more from him. She thinks he'd be a wonderful boyfriend if someone gave him the chance, if he wanted that chance with that girl.

She wonders if she's that girl.

She carries a tray of food and some plates into the living room and sets it on the table as the guys watch the pregame show, and Noah winks at her when no one else is looking. She licks her lips discretely (yet totally on purpose) and leaves the room. She can't be in there with him and be expected to keep her composure. She's already feeling...feeling...Well, that almost kiss earlier has stayed with her, the feel of his breath on her face, the look in his eyes as he told her to kiss him.

And this jersey smells like him, despite the fact that she sprayed her perfume on it before she left the house. (What? When she gives it back to him, she wants to make him a little crazy, like he's been making her.) It smells like him, just slightly like her right now, and the part of her that has no reservations about sex whatsoever (it's a small part of her, but one that's growing the more time she spends alone with him) wonders if this is what they'd smell like together.

It's a relatively creepy thought, so she pushes it away and tries to focus on something else.

She decides, since all the food that's being prepared is savoury, that the boys need something sweet. She grabs one of his mother's cookbooks and flips through the pages, looking for something easy enough to put together.

She's standing at the counter with one knee bent, toying with one of her braids when she hears someone walk into the kitchen. She's already blushing.

"Hey!" Finn says happily.

She turns around and plasters on a smile so she doesn't look disappointed that it's not someone else. "Hi," she says.

His brow furrows as he heads for the fridge. "You okay? You look...red."

_That's because I'm thinking of all the depraved things I want your best friend to do to me._

"I'm fine. It's just hot in here with all the cooking and everything," she says. It's not really a lie.

He nods and grabs some more sodas, holding them all in his arms. "Puck told me to just yell at you to bring us these, but...I dunno. That doesn't seem fair."

She laughs. "Well, I don't think that's necessarily his main concern," Rachel says. Finn smiles and shrugs one shoulder. "It's okay, though. I kind of brought it on myself."

"You just lost."

"Thanks for the reminder," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Could have gone either way," Finn explains. "He could have ended up as your slave."

She nods her head and he leaves the room.

She wonders what she would have had Noah do if he'd lost.

She blames him for the fact that everything she can think of is explicitly sexual. What in the world was this boy doing to her?

...

So, Puck can say that for the first time in his life, he has absolutely no interest in sports whatsoever.

Okay, that's not entirely true.

Rachel _is_ wearing his jersey. He supposes that counts.

Goddamn, he wants to peel that off her, dip his hand into her shorts, make her come. He wants to lift her up onto the counter and spread her open. _Fuck_. It's the fourth fucking inning and he has to remind himself to check the score. The only reason he sends Finn for drinks is because he's hard as fuck and _a_, can't stand up himself, and _b,_ if he sees Rachel right now, there's a very good chance he'll come in his pants, and he's not a thirteen year old, so he basically refuses to let that shit go down.

(Besides, when he _does_ come because of her, he wants it to be _inside_ her. _Goddamn_.)

Sometime during the sixth inning, the house starts smelling really, really good and chocolatey, and all the guys look at one another during a commercial break.

"What is that?" Matt asks, looking towards the kitchen.

"Dunno," Puck mumbles. He's battling with himself, wondering if he should go talk to her. He knows that if he's alone with her right now, even with their friends so close, he'll end up kissing her. He just knows it.

"D'you tell her to make dessert?" Mike chimes in. Puck shakes his head and shrugs one shoulder. "Damn. That girl's a keeper."

Puck doesn't really know what to say to that. He thinks she is, too. He wants to be the one to keep her. (Shit. He did not just think that.)

Rachel walks in a few minutes later and sees the disaster on the coffee table, dirty plates all stacked (she smiles at Kurt; that's all his doing, obviously) and remnants of food on platters. There are empty soda cans scattered around, napkins used and left _wherever_. She honestly wonders how boys are even capable of surviving. Right. Because women are so wonderful at taking care of them. (For the most part. She's a bit of a feminist, but she's also a fan of human kindness, and she doesn't think there's anything wrong with taking care of someone you care about. But anyway.)

She starts clearing plates and balancing things in her arms when Noah speaks to her.

"What're you cooking, darlin'?"

(She really likes that particular nickname, and she has absolutely no idea why.)

"I thought you boys might like some brownies. They'll be ready in a few minutes," she explains.

She's seriously the sweetest girl ever. He didn't even ask her to do this, she's just doing it because she thinks he'll (they'll, whatever) like it. She's just that kind of girl. She likes to do nice things for people. He feels guilty for a second, like he's taken advantage of that, but he hasn't made her do anything really all that bad. And really, she could say no and he wouldn't honestly be able to 'force' her into anything.

"That's awesome," he says, smiling genuinely at her. "Thanks."

She bites the inside of her lip to keep from grinning, then turns to walk into the kitchen.

He punches Matt on the arm for staring at her ass as she walks. Kurt _giggles_ in his spot and Puck musters his meanest glare, but it doesn't really do much of anything at all.

When Rachel comes in with a plate of brownies, hot from the oven (after taking one up to his sister), the little smile she gives him as the other guys reach for their dessert makes Puck's heart like, flutter or something. It's totally fucked. Must be all that junk food. Totally. That's all it is.

...

Rachel is sitting on the back deck of Noah's house with the patio door that leads into the kitchen open, just in case he bellows for her and needs something. She's got a glass of water perched on the arm of the adirondack chair she's sitting on. She's got her legs knees pulled up to her chin, just sitting there, listening to the sounds of almost-summer, letting the sky turn pink above her, smiling every so often when she can hear the boys in the house cheering or laughing.

She doesn't expect her phone to ring, and she doesn't recognize the number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Rachel," Santana says. She already sounds bored. That's kind of her default setting, Rachel thinks. "How's it going?"

"Um...fine, I guess. How did you get my number?" Rachel asks. They never exchanged them.

"Q. I was surprised she had it, actually, but whatever. So did he like, drool when he saw you?"

Rachel laughs. "Practically," she says quietly. "I think the pigtails did it."

"Pigtails? Jesus. Are you _trying_ to make him come in his pants?"

"Santana!" Rachel laughs, half-mortified.

"I'm just saying."

"Also, he gave me tube socks to match his jersey."

Santana laughs loudly. "_Of course _he did," she says. Rachel can practically picture her shaking her head. "So what are you doing right now?"

"Just sitting outside. I'm between chores, apparently," Rachel says, rolling her eyes. She's already cleaned up the kitchen and hasn't been asked for anything else yet.

"Can you just seduce him already? I'm getting bored with this game," Santana says, making Rachel laugh again. "Honestly. You know he's not going to say no, and you know you want him. Just, like, strip down after everyone else has left."

Rachel bites her lip and looks over her shoulder to make sure no one is around to hear her. "Can I be honest?"

"Are you ever not?"

Rachel's going to choose to ignore that comment. "I don't...I mean I've never actually _tried_ to seduce someone," she admits. "I'll make a fool of myself!"

Santana practically squeals. "You _so_ want to bang him!"

"Santana!" Rachel hisses.

"Sorry. Sorry. You want _him_ to bang _you_."

"_Oh my god_."

"Okay. Alright. Look, Puck...he's...he's not a hard guy to turn on. Actually, he's pretty much the easiest."

"You know, this isn't making me feel very confident that he wants _me_, not just a warm body," Rachel says seriously.

"First of all, fuck that, because he totally doesn't want anyone else. Trust me. Second of all, your body is more than just warm."

"I don't know whether or not I should be uncomfortable with your constant remarks about my looks, or flattered."

"Whatever. Just like, smile at him and be nice to him and he'll probably throw you up against the closest wall."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," Rachel says, covering her face with her hand. "I shouldn't be saying any of this to you."

"Secret's safe with me," Santana promises. Maybe Rachel is crazy, but she believes her. "Just relax, Rachel. And have fun. You're allowed, you know."

"I'm perfectly aware," Rachel states primly.

"Well then have it. And Puck? That guy _knows_ fun."

"Really, you referring to your past with him doesn't help."

"Oh, yes it does," Santana laughs. "I know it's a sure thing. You won't be left unsatisfied. Believe me."

"I'm hanging up," Rachel says. Santana laughs again and says goodbye.

Rachel thinks she's just said far too much.

The thing is? She really doesn't care if Santana knows these details. They're friends now, as strange as that is, and it's nice to have someone to talk to about this kind of thing.

Even if she knows she's going to have to share details later.

(If there are details to share.)

...

He rotates his shoulder a couple times, wincing as he does so. It's his throwing arm, and it gets pretty sore between sports seasons when he's not working it all the time. Baseball doesn't start up for another week. It's not like he's out of shape or anything. Hello, have you seen him? He just hasn't really been working out as much as usual, since he's got other things on the go. Like trying to seduce Rachel or whatever.

So he figures maybe he can combine his two problems. You know, his sore shoulder and the fact that Rachel hasn't let him get her naked yet.

"Hey! Rach!" he yells, tilting his head towards the kitchen. She's got her hands on her hips (sexy) when she appears in the doorway. "C'mere."

Everyone in the room seems suddenly intrigued by what is about to happen. Puck thinks it's pretty hilarious that, until now, her slavery has been pretty much kept just between the two of them. No one else has actually witnessed what she has to do. This is going to be awesome.

"What is it now?" she asks. The guys all cheer when something happens on the screen. She's not really paying attention.

"I'm really tense," he says rubbing his shoulder with his hand.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't take the game so seriously, then." She crosses her arms and he looks at her like she's kind of a dork for totally missing the point. "What?" she asks skeptically.

"I need a rub down."

"Dude, not with us in the room," Mike says, grimacing.

The look on Rachel's face is comical. "Mike!" she gasps. "I'll have you know that even if that was how he meant that, I certainly wouldn't be obliging. Women like romance, not vulgarity, and Noah seems to be incapable of the former."

"Hey!" Puck cries, offended. "I romance girls just fine."

Everyone in the room laughs. He does not appreciate that shit. Especially not since Rachel was literally a split second away from kissing on him in the kitchen earlier. _No romance my ass._ And honestly, she can pretend she doesn't want it, but he knows different.

"Sure you do," Matt says. "Sure you do."

Whatever. Fuckers don't know anything.

"Come on, babe," Puck says. He grabs her hand and pulls her over so she's standing behind him at the sofa, then he lets her go long enough to tug his tee shirt over his head. The guys all roll their eyes, and Rachel really doesn't know what to do. "Get to work."

"Noah, this is inappropriate," she says quietly, glancing around the room.

Without even taking his eyes off the television, he says, "only if you want it to be."

"You're disgusting."

"You're stalling."

"You're both interrupting the game," Finn laughs. "Just give in, Rach. At least he'll shut up."

"I don't think that logic is incredibly sensible," she mumbles.

The problem is that his skin is all tanned right there in front of her, and she remembers what it felt like yesterday under her hands at the pool, and she wants to touch him so badly. The only thing that's wrong with this situation is that there are other people in the room. She wants him, more of him, and she wants to kiss him, to pick up where they left off in the kitchen earlier.

And her conversation with Santana has left her more curious than ever. Not that she really doubted his sexual prowess, so to speak, but hearing that he most definitely wouldn't disappoint just makes her want it more. She does not know what's gotten into her.

"Sometime today," Puck says.

She rolls her eyes and he focuses his attention on the television as her hands come to rest on his bare (muscular) shoulders and she starts kneading the skin, pushing her thumbs from the base of his neck up to his hairline, right in the center.

Holy shit. Not that he doubted she'd be good with her hands, but this is seriously amazing and it's only been like, a minute. Her thumbs doing that thing over and over again is pretty amazing and sending really good like, _tingles_ down his spine. It's not even a dirty thing, it's just that she's making his back and shoulders feel a million times better. This is even more awesome than her applying sunscreen, because she's actually massaging him, and seriously, he had no clue those tiny little hands could do this.

He doesn't realize he's let out a throaty moan until all the guys look at him like he's seriously weirding them out.

"Whatever," he mumbles. "You don't even understand." His head rolls to the left when Rachel starts working the right side, his sore shoulder, and his eyes close momentarily before he remembers he's supposed to be defending himself. "She's good," he manages.

Finn just shakes his head. Kurt looks far too amused. Matt is looking at Rachel. Mike is trying not to laugh.

"Okay?" Rachel asks, stilling her hands.

"Don't stop," he says, reaching up to hold her hand against him. He doesn't care that it sounds breathy and totally sexual, or that he's practically begging. He just wants her hands on him, doing those amazing things. "Keep going."

The only reason she wants to stop is because she can feel herself blushing, overheating, and she's fairly certain that if any of the boys look her way, she'll be giving herself away. But they're all - even Kurt - wrapped up in the game again and don't seem to notice what she's doing anymore.

When she feels Noah shudder beneath her hands, then shift in his seat to try to cover it up, she bites the inside of her lip and thinks that maybe she could be better at this seduction thing than she ever assumed.

...

The guys are leaving, and after Rachel has said goodbye, she quietly tells Noah she's going to run up and check on Hannah one last time. She's not sure whether the girl will be asleep (she should be, it's late) or not, but she just wants to make sure nothing crazy is going on. Again, she's not sure how much trouble a single nine and a half year old can get into, because when Rachel was that age, she was putting on cabarets for the neighbours and charging $7.50 admission to add to her college fund.

What? It's never too early to plan for the future.

Sure enough, Hannah is tucked into her bed with her pajamas on, dishes from her snacks stacked on her bedside table. When Rachel walks over to pick them up to take downstairs, she switches off the light and tucks the covers up around the girl a little more. She steps out into the hall, tugging the door almost all the way closed.

In the kitchen, Noah is dropping the last of the empty soda cans in the recycling bin beneath the sink, and she thinks better of mentioning the fact that he's actually helping.

"You fed her?" he asks, looking at the plates and glass in her hands. She places them in the dishwasher and shrugs.

"She's a sweet girl."

"She's not bad, as far as bratty sisters go," he says, and he's smiling, so she knows he doesn't necessarily mean it. "I'm glad you can deal with her, though."

"Why's that?" she asks distractedly as she rinses out the dishcloth and wipes down the counter one last time.

"'Cause you're babysitting tomorrow. She's got a friend coming over."

She looks at him and he's wearing a terribly smug grin. "Fine. Are you going to be here?"

He raises his brow and steps toward her. "You want me to be?"

"I'm just checking."

He's right in front of her, and she's looking up at him with these big brown eyes, and he knows that if he kissed her right now she wouldn't stop him.

"I'll be here."

"Okay."

He reaches for her hands as they hang at her sides, and slips his fingers between hers, pulling her closer. "You know, you're fucking good with your hands, baby," he says. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips subtly. "Makes me wonder what else you can do with them."

She should be appalled. She should step away from him and give him a lecture on appropriate conduct. The truth is, she absolutely loves that he's thinking about her that way. She won't even deny it anymore.

But she doesn't really know what to say to that. She takes just a little bit of Santana's advice.

"You asked me to do something earlier," she says quietly, looking down at their hands instead of at him. He just lets out a low hum in response. "Did you...did you still want me to perform that particular task?"

Dear god, this is hot. And it's weird, because she's like, not even saying the word 'kiss', and he's pretty sure she just can't say it, like she's scared he'll shoot her down or something. (Crazy.) And she's just standing there in front of him, holding his hands, wearing the hottest outfit ever, and all he's wanted to do all night is be alone with her.

"Yeah," he says, but it comes out as more of a whisper than anything.

She looks up at him and she's _almost_ smiling as she takes a step closer. She doesn't know what's wrong with her, but she can't close the rest of the distance and just kiss him. She's just looking up at him, and his thumbs are moving against her hands. She knows they both want this, but she can't force herself to just kiss him, and she has no idea why.

He's had enough of waiting, though. He pulls his hands from hers, grabs her hips and hauls her against him, kissing her as she lets out a little squeak.

He tastes like chocolate and cola, and his lips are soft, the kiss is soft, which is completely different from the hard, rough way he's holding her hips, fingers digging into her skin in a not-entirely-unpleasant way. She brings her hands up to rest on the small of his back, feeling the hard muscle there beneath her palms. When he parts her lips with his tongue, she moans softly and he backs her against the counter, pressing his hips against hers. She can feel him hard against her stomach, and she'd swear it's the most amazing thing ever if she didn't know that it's only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this boy.

His hands slide down to rest on her ass as he holds her closer to him, grounding himself against her because he literally _has_ to or he'll lose his mind. She's fucking insane with that mouth of hers, her tongue sliding against his and..._oh shit_. She's amazing. He gets a little daring after he's lifted her up onto the counter, and he reaches up, tugging one of her braids a little harder than necessary.

She bites down on his lip playfully and _fuck_, he could have some fun with that pleasure/pain stuff if she was game. He pulls away from her just long enough to see her red lips, pink cheeks, parted legs, his hand on her thigh.

He shouldn't have pulled away at all, apparently.

She glances at the time, then puts her hand on his chest, pushing slightly. "I should go."

"No, you shouldn't," he insists, leaning in to swipe his tongue across her pulse point. She lets out a whimper, but she pulls back, far enough that he can't reach her. "Rach."

"It's late."

"I don't care," he says, though that's pretty obvious. "Don't tease me. I want your hands."

She thinks her heart falls. They've just barely kissed (okay, that's a lie) and he's calling her a tease, practically insisting she pleasure him. But isn't this what she wanted? Doesn't she want to make him feel good? God, yes, she does. She wants to continue this. So why is she finding what he's said offensive? And why is she hopping down off the counter and stepping away from him? And why does the confused look on his face make her feel guilty?

"I have to go," she says, brushing her hair back behind her ear needlessly.

"Okay, what the fuck just happened, because one minute it's all good, then..."

"Nothing happened, Noah," she insists, cutting him off with a pointed look.

She's pissed and he has no idea why.

"Look, if you didn't want to kiss me, you didn't have to," he says defensively, sticking his hands in his pockets (adjusting his jeans is necessary).

"That's not...I wanted to," she admits.

"So what's the problem, then?" he asks, confused.

She shakes her head. (She doesn't know.) She reaches behind her and unties the knot at the back of his jersey, letting it fall over her stomach before pulling the item over her head.

"Here," she says, handing it to him.

He's a little too stunned to do anything but let her drop the jersey into his hand, because she's standing there in front of him in a little white tank top and her nipples are in hard little peaks, her stomach still showing and...

_Seriously_, what the fuck just happened?

"Rach, if I did something..."

She smiles, leans up and kisses the side of his mouth, her lips just barely touching his. "You didn't. I promise, okay?" she says, her hand on his forearm. "I'll see you tomorrow. What time?"

"1:00," he response automatically, following her towards the door. "Hey." She turns and he swoops in, kissing her gently, just to see what she'll do.

She smiles.

What the hell!

"Goodnight, Noah."

She closes the door before he can say anything. She just walked away from certified awesome Puckasaurus Sex. That's just _wrong_!

He tries to go over it in his head, and he can usually pinpoint his fuck ups. Really. He can usually look back and realize, _hey, you kind of accidentally let slip that you think she's got huge thighs,_ or, _you idiot, you asked to take her from behind with her Cheerios skirt still on_._ Too much!_ or whatever. He honestly doesn't think he did anything wrong, which is both awesome and sucktastic. Awesome because, hello, no fuck ups. Sucktastic because he can't even apologize for something.

So he waits until he knows she'll be home, then he dials her number. He should probably know better, should probably just leave it alone and forget about it. He should just accept that it was a hot kiss and leave it at that. But really? It was a _damn_ hot kiss and he wants a hell of a lot more of that, please.

And yeah, maybe he's on his bed in just his boxers, and maybe he's still hard from...well, like, the whole day, actually.

"What?" she asks quietly.

"That's how you're answering?"

"I'd like to know why you're calling."

"I wanna know why you just bolted. Seriously. Don't give me some bullshit answer, because that was fucking sexy as hell and you know it."

"Exactly!" she hisses. He thinks that probably means her dads are sleeping.

"So you ran out on me because it was a good kiss. Well, shit. If I'd known that I would have made it worse, then maybe I wouldn't be hard as fuck and frustrated right now."

"Noah, please," she whispers. Her eyes are closed tight. She can't believe he's called her. She can't believe she answered. "Can you just let it go?" He mumbles something disgusting about wanting to let it go. She gets a visual of him with his hand...She's blushing. "It was just a kiss. And you told me to. It was part of the agreement."

He scoffs. That's such bullshit. "Okay then. In that case, as my slave, I demand that you talk me through this."

"Talk you..." What does that...? "Noah!"

"What? It's the _agreement_," he says bitterly. Thing is, he's already stroking himself, because even the sound of her voice and the thought of her all pissed off is totally hot. Plus, she keeps saying his name, so that helps.

She sighs. He's not going to let it go unless she tells him the truth. "I don't trust myself around you sometimes," she admits. "I just...You're so forward and...overtly sexual. I'm not like that - "

"You can be." (She said _sexual_. He closes his eyes.)

"I won't just be some girl you sleep with. That's not who I am, no matter how attracted I am to you."

He'd love to tell her that he doesn't want her to be just some girl he sleeps with, either, but he's pretty close to the edge, so his brain is not working right now, and his main goal is to get off, not repair _whateverthefuck_ is wrong between them.

"How attracted are you?" he asks, his voice low. "Tell me."

She's not stupid. She knows what he's doing right now. Or what he's going to do. She can't say she's not aroused by the thought. She's been aroused since she first put on his jersey.

And she's currently wearing nothing but her tank top, panties and those tube socks he gave her. She's overcome with the urge to tell him, but she knows that would just give him mixed signals, and she thinks she's going insane, because even she doesn't know what she wants. What her body seems to crave and what her mind and heart are telling her to do are two completely separate things.

Her body is winning right now.

"You have no idea," she tells him, laughing a little. "Tonight, when you had your shirt off...I'll never make fun of you about junk food again."

He actually laughs. He's got his dick in his hand and she's seriously like, almost sorta dirty talking with him, and she makes him _laugh_. Shit's not right.

"So you think I'm sexy," he states.

"I do. I can't help it. You're...you're gorgeous."

"Fuck," he breathes out. He doesn't know if he wants this whole thing to be over really fast (he _really_ needs to get off right now) or if he wants to drag it out and see what else he can get her to say. He wants to know what she's wearing, but he's pretty sure that if he asks her flat out, she'll hang up. (Apparently, she spooks easy.) "Why'd you give me back my jersey."

"Because it's yours," she answers automatically.

"Smells like you now." And yeah, maybe it's sitting next to him on the bed, and maybe he sniffed it. Like, twice. Shut up.

"Really? I thought it smelled like you," she says. There's something kittenish in her voice that he loves. "I guess it smells like both of us."

"Goddamn," he mumbles. He runs his thumb over the head of his cock and can't stop the moan it pulls from him. "You still got your socks on?"

There is no doubt in her mind that he's currently giving into self-pleasure. The thing is, it doesn't bother her as much as it should, because she knows (she felt) how hard he was when she was kissing him, and she's the one who left. She knows she doesn't owe him anything at all, but she can't say she hates this, either. (And if she closes her eyes and lets herself, she can picture him, which is terrifying and sensual and erotic all at once.)

"Yes," she says quietly. "My feet are always cold, you know."

"Yeah?" he laughs. "What else?"

"My tank top. The white one."

"Mmm." She can feel the heat pulsing through her body, between her thighs. She shifts her lower half slightly as she holds the phone to her ear. "Shorts?"

She hesitates for a moment. But honesty is always the best policy.

"No. I took them off."

"You...fuck. God, Rachel, that's so sexy," he says. His voice is soft, gruff, and she bites her lip to keep from moaning or something equally as embarrassing. "You really should've stayed. I wish I could see you right now."

She isn't entirely sure where the surge of confidence comes from - maybe it's been there all along - but she takes a deep breath, sets her hand flat on her stomach to keep it from traveling elsewhere, and decides she just wants this to be over. (She wants him to come, but she's certainly not brash enough to say that.)

"I'm laying on my bed," she tells him, using a soft voice she knows he seems to like. "I think I might sleep like this, with these socks on." She hears his groan on the other end of the line. "And my hair is still braided."

Fuck. That's _such_ an awesome visual. Rachel on her bed in her room, probably in the dark. This is prime fantasy material. She's wearing the 'present' he got her (best six bucks he ever spent) and a pair of panties. Speaking of...

"Your panties," he says, his voice breaking a little bit. He's so fucking close.

"They're white and red. With a bow in the front."

He grunts and tightens his hand around his length. "So fucking sexy," he manages. "Rachel, you're..." (In his head, she's going down on him and yeah, he's holding onto her braids, but in like, a nice way, and she totally loves it and her tongue is...) Shit, he's coming. "Oh, _god_."

She bites her lip and takes a breath. God, this is amazing. She doesn't know how. Normally, it's something she'd shoot down as completely disgusting, something she'd want no part of. But somehow, being the star of his masturbatory fantasies has made her completely and totally hot. She rubs her thighs together, but it's of no use, and before she even thinks about it, her hand is moving down her body, feeling the moisture through her panties as she hears him breathing heavily through the phone.

"Goddamn," he says. She hears a soft laugh. "I can't believe you just did that."

She decides the innocent act is the best way to go, even when she's touching herself (he doesn't know that, obviously). "Did what?"

He laughs a little harder. "Nice try, darlin'."

(And yeah, he's noticed how she looks at him when he calls her that; totally loves it.)

She pulls her phone away from her mouth and lets out a little, tiny, barely there moan upon hearing that name.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever you say," he says, chuckling. She hears the rustling of sheets and bites her lip as she slips one finger into her panties. She doesn't know why she hasn't hung up yet. Maybe because his voice is enough to make her absolutely crazy. "You wet, Rach?"

"What? No!" she says in a panic. He laughs again.

"Liar. You have to be."

"Says whom?"

"Biology," he insists. "God, I wish you'd stayed. I wanna taste you so bad. I was about two seconds from pulling those little shorts off you."

She knows he's trying to do for her what she just did for him. She doesn't want him to know she's doing this. Obviously he already thinks she is, but as long as she doesn't confirm it, he can't ever prove it at all.

So as much as she'd love to just have him talk to her about anything at all - he could read an instruction manual and be sexy - she knows she needs to get him off the phone.

"I'm really quite tired," she says. She's currently pushing down her panties, kicking them onto the floor and spreading her legs just a little wider.

"Oh, yeah?" he asks. Somehow he makes even that sound sensual.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm going to get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow?" She sounds too hopeful, she knows, but her eyes are closed and she's imagining it's his fingers sliding against her, not her own. She's a little distracted.

"Yeah. Tomorrow." (Shit, he's totally picturing her sprawled out on her bed. He wonders if she has any toys. Probably not. She doesn't really seem like that kind of girl, considering she's denying even being wet at all from hearing him come when he was obviously thinking about her. _Obviously_.)

"Okay. Bye, then." God, she doesn't even sound like herself. She needs to fix that, but not overcompensate. "Goodnight, Noah."

"Yeah. You have a good night, too, babe." He sounds smug. She doesn't care at the moment. "Hey, Rach?"

"Hmm?"

"Two fingers, and curl upward. That's how I'd do it."

She hangs up before he can hear the moan she lets out.

(What? Who says he can't help her along, even if she won't admit to doing it?)


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel skips her workout on Saturday morning and sleeps in until 9:30. Her fathers have knocked on her door three times since 8:30, wondering why she's so tired and why she isn't out of bed yet.

She surely can't tell them that she was up later than she ever should have been, all because she was thinking of Noah and what he'd said and how he had thinking about her the night before when they spoke. Her body seemed to be constantly hot until the third time she brought herself to orgasm, then she was just too tired to continue that completely ridiculous, borderline embarrassing activity.

What has he turned her into?

She pulls herself out of bed and groans as she pads towards the bathroom for her shower. It's only a matter of hours before she has to see him again.

Gets to see him again.

...

Puck hates his mom's schedule sometimes. Seriously. When she works nights, she comes home at 7:00 a.m. and usually prepares something for dinner that he can just put in the oven or whatever. She'll take a shower and usually do some housework or something, then wake him up around 8:30 or 9:00 so she can go to bed and he can watch Hannah. Don't get him wrong, he loves his mom (whatever; she's awesome) and she works her ass off to take care of him and his sister, so he's not really complaining. Except who wants to wake up at 8:30 on a Saturday morning?

And when he wakes up (she just pokes her head in and says his name and he's up, pretty much) this morning, the second thing he thinks (the first is _'fuck, it's early'_) is about his phone call with Rachel the night before, how that all turned out and how he couldn't get to sleep because he was wondering if she was really doing what he thought/hoped/wished she was doing.

So naturally, thinking about that leaves him fucking hard (_again_) and he steps into the shower because he knows he doesn't have much time before he actually has to do stuff.

Basically everything about last night was hot. Almost kissing, the massage, the fucking seriously hot making out, their phone conversation and how sexy she was as she talked to him. If he has his way (and god, does he want his way) Rachel won't leave tonight without both of them getting off more than once. Together, this time.

When he gets downstairs, Hannah is already on the couch, still in her pajamas, watching cartoons or whatever, so he grunts out a 'good morning' and she, as usual, replies with what kind of cereal she'd like. He pours her a bowl of Fruit Loops, tosses a handful in his mouth, then pours milk into her bowl and carries it to the living room.

This is pretty much what they'll do all morning, until he makes her get dressed around 11:00, and since her friend is coming over just after noon, and Rachel is coming at 1:00, she doesn't even argue. His mom goes in to work again for 7:00.

Today is either going to be awesome or terrible.

...

Rachel knocks at the door of the Puckerman home and she can hear two distinctive girly giggles coming from inside. She smiles. This might be a really fun day, as long as Noah doesn't make it difficult for her. She thinks that if she can just spend her time entertaining these two little girls, she might be okay. Hopefully Noah will occupy himself with his video games or whatever else it is he does in his spare time.

He pulls open the door and he honestly doesn't know what the hell she's doing.

She's (no joke) got her pink rolling bag sitting next to her and another bag slung over her shoulder.

"What's all this?" he asks.

She smiles and pushes past him into the house, leaving her bag for him to carry inside. "Girls need activities to be entertained, Noah, and I'm sure you don't have the proper things."

"I don't want to know what's in this bag, do I?" he asks, smirking at her. She scrunches her nose really cutely and shakes her head, and it's like last night isn't affecting them at all. Which is both good and bad. "Yo. Hannah."

"Hi, Rachel!" Hannah says, waving like a lunatic. "This is Shannon. She's my best friend."

"Hi," Rachel says happily as she walks into the living room. She sits down on the sofa and looks at what they've got spread out on the coffee table. "What are you doing?"

Puck thinks he's not needed.

"Hey, I'll be upstairs," he says. "You good?"

"I can take it from here," Rachel says, smiling. Hannah and Shannon start laughing for some reason, and he's already had enough of this.

"If you make snacks, bring me some," he calls over his shoulder as he heads up the stairs.

(And yes, he realizes that's a great way to get her alone in his room at least for a few minutes so he can...Well, so he can be alone with her in his room for a few minutes.)

Rachel hates the pang of disappointment she feels as she watches Noah retreat upstairs to his bedroom. It's silly, she knows, since there's no logical reason she can think that would make him want to stay in a room with her and two nine year old girls. And really, she doesn't necessarily need him near her when she's trying to come up with fun activities for these kids. She doesn't need to be able to see him or smell him or want him. Well, any more than she already does. Even knowing he's in the house is enough to get her blood running a little warmer. It's not long before she hears the thump of a bass from the hip hop he listens to, and she really wishes she could be up there with him.

But that wasn't part of the agreement.

So she pulls open her bag and shows the girls what she's brought. Makeup and nail polish and little tiaras to play dress up. Rachel had worried at first that they'd be too old for this kind of thing, but the way their little faces light up lets her know they're pretty excited about it.

They pick out a movie to put on (The Little Mermaid, and Rachel approves) and then each of the girls picks a nail polish colour. Rachel takes turn painting their little toes and fingers, and the girls giggle over whatever it is little girls giggle over. They sing along to the songs and Rachel swipes light pink (almost non-existent) eye shadow over their lids, a little lip gloss over their lips. They look in the mirror and smile and laugh, and Rachel honestly doesn't know how she's having so much fun doing this.

After the movie is over, the girls insist they're hungry, and Rachel pops in another DVD and tells them to stay put while she makes them a snack. In the kitchen, she makes them celery with peanut butter and raisins, one of her favourite childhood snacks, and pours a couple glasses of chocolate milk. When she leaves the girls again, it's because she knows there's no way Noah will appreciate a snack of 'ants on a log'. She stands in the kitchen, wondering what kind of afternoon snack a 17 year old boy would want, then she decides that no one is ever too old for milk and cookies. Lucky for her, the Puckermans have practically a full cupboard of cookies, so she arranges an assortment on a plate and heads towards the stairs.

He's sprawled out on his bed with his back against his headboard, playing some obviously offensive video game. He smiles when he sees her, and she's not nervous at all, which she thinks is fairly odd, considering this is the first time they're alone since they kissed and then spoke on the phone.

"Hi," she says quietly, stepping inside and handing him the plate and glass.

Cookies and milk? Seriously, he might be 17, but he loves this shit. It's his favourite snack. And since he shared her homemade cookies with his mom and sister, those are all gone.

"Hey. Thanks," he says as he dunks an Oreo into the glass of milk. "How's it going?"

"Just fine," she insists, crossing her arms as she stands there a couple feet from the bed. "I gave the girls manicures and pedicures."

He laughs and moves over, making room for her to sit next to him, which he's pretty fucking happy she does. "That's cool, I guess."

She smiles and nods, watches as he finishes his cookie. "I could give you one." The blank look he gives her almost makes her laugh out loud. "Men get them all the time. Daddy goes once a week."

"No offense, babe, but your dad is gay and I'm not."

"Noah, sexual orientation has nothing to do with it. I can't believe you'd say that."

"I said no offense!" He argues. She rolls her eyes, then takes his hand in hers, looking at his nails as her thumb traces over his knuckles.

"I wouldn't tell anyone," she says quietly, enticingly.

He's tempted...but...

"Rach, if you wanna hold my hand, just hold my hand," he says. He thinks it's really fucking cute that she blushes. "How are you today?"

More blushing.

"I'm fine."

"I mean after..."

"Noah," she whispers. His fingers curl around hers and he pulls her closer. She doesn't fight him. She doesn't _want_ to fight him.

"I'm just checking," he says quietly, and it dawns on her that he's actually concerned.

"I'm...I'm trying not to be embarrassed."

Here we go. Genuine conversation. He doesn't know when he started wanting this with her so badly. "Are you?"

"Surprisingly, not as much as I'd assumed," she says, locking eyes with him.

Fuck babysitting. He doesn't want to let her out of his sight.

"Good."

Really good. That means he can pull her against him and kiss her, which is what he does. Her hand ends up on the side of his neck, her thumb brushing the spot below his ear. That feels almost as good as her lips moving against his. She's totally into it, too. He can tell. She ends up laid out half on top of him, his thigh between her legs and his hand in her hair. He thinks he could just kiss her for hours and be okay with that.

She pulls away, because she knows that if she doesn't, she'll end up spending her entire night in his room, and as much as she's sure the girls don't need a constant chaperone, she's not going to leave them alone.

Noah, however, doesn't seem to care. He pulls her back toward him and kisses her again, smiling against her lips.

"Mmm," he murmurs as he lets her move away. "You're not so bad at that."

She laughs and raises her brow. "Surprised?"

"Nah." She tries to move, to sit up again, but he won't let her. "Just stay here," he says, his voice low and his hand at the small of her back. "They're fine."

"I can't," she insists. "And wasn't it your idea that I babysit in the first place?"

"That was before you made out with me in the kitchen and got me off over the phone."

She stands up and straightens out her shirt. "Okay, now I'm embarrassed."

Shit. _Shit! _He didn't mean to embarrass her. He wasn't even thinking. "Hey," he says, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Sorry. You don't have to be." He reaches for her hand and pulls her toward him, setting his hands low on her hips. "Don't be, okay?"

She's biting her lips as she nods, but she knows his words can't really change anything. The way he says them does, somehow. She doesn't think she's ever seen him actually try to placate someone, make them feel better. Not like this. And if he has, it was probably her, and probably over something silly. Maybe this is silly, too.

They've been building towards this all week, if she really thinks about it. And it's basically all she can think about anyway. She doesn't know what it means, these kisses and this obvious sexual chemistry (tension, energy, whatever) between them. She thinks it means something, though. She's positive that the chemistry coupled with his obvious concern over her feelings has to mean something. There's no way he'd treat her like this if she was just another girl.

"I should go back downstairs," Rachel says, trying to pry his hands off her hips (thighs, ass, however you'd like to explain it).

"Fine," he mumbles. He stands up quickly, leaning in to kiss her before he lays back down again and un-pauses his game. "Call me for dinner, yeah?"

She actually laughs, almost a scoff, as she walks out of the room. It doesn't even surprise her anymore that he can go from quiet and sweet to..._Puck_. She doesn't hate either persona.

...

Puck's more than a little surprised when his phone rings and he sees that it's Santana calling. She never calls him anymore. In fact, the only reason she ever really called him was to tell him her parents were out and he could come over without, you know, getting his ass kicked by her (seriously) crazy dad. They're friends and stuff, but it's not like they talk on the phone for hours at a time or anything.

"'Sup, mama?" he answers, using the name he always had for her when they were together. Old habits die hard.

"Nothing. I'm bored. Tell me you've fucked Rachel and you can give me all the dirty details."

He smiles. They're like the same person. That's probably not a good thing, but sometimes it's awesome.

"I don't kiss and tell," he says.

She laughs so hard she starts coughing. "You told the entire team you fucked me on the back deck of Brittany's house when a party was going on inside," she reminds him.

He grins. Yeah. He did do that. (What? They asked!) "Whatever."

"So you haven't slept with her yet," Santana states. They both know that if he had, he would have told her, or at least made some indication and left it up to her to assume. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing's wrong with me! I thought it was gonna happen last night, but no dice. She like, bolted when we made out."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised," he says. There's something weird about that.

"Look, Puck, no girl is going to put up with your shit unless she's getting something in return. It's not so weird that I'd assume she'd jump at the chance to sleep with you."

"That's what I thought," he mumbles. "But she's here now, and she just macked on me a little bit, so I think we're good anyway."

"Wait. She just left last night and you let her go, then she comes back today and you let her kiss you?" He doesn't say anything. The answer is a resounding _yes_. "That doesn't sound like you. You don't let girls just walk away."

He smirks to himself as he thinks about that phone call. Again. For like, the thousandth time.

"Well, we talked after and uh...worked things out."

Santana laughs in his ear, pulling him from his vision of Rachel doing what he _knows_ she did after they hung up.

"Never would have thought Rachel Berry would give in to phone sex," she says laughingly.

"She didn't. It wasn't like that."

Liar.

"Too bad," Santana says. "That'd be a hot visual for me."

His brow furrows. Her comments are pissing him off and also making him totally hot. "Okay, seriously, are you into her? You can tell me."

"I'm not into her," she laughs. "But admit it. You, me, Rachel. That's a sexy as hell threesome."

He groans. He can't help it. Rachel and Santana together is like, brain-melting spank bank material. "Shut up, Santana."

"I'd totally do it. Feel that out for me, okay? Let me know..."

"Seriously. Shut the fuck up." She laughs. He doesn't appreciate it. "Unless you call Rachel and tell her to come up here and take care of this shit, you gotta stop making me think about that."

"You're such a boy."

"You know I am."

"Just handle it yourself. Who cares?" she says nonchalantly.

He adjusts his jeans and tips his head back. _Fuck_. "I can't do that shit while she's in the house again," he says.

There's a pause and they both realize what he's just said. "Again?" she asks. "Do tell, Puckerman."

"Fuck you."

"Oh, come on! Just tell me."

"You really need your own sex life, you know that?" he says seriously.

"My brother's friend is coming over later," she says. She sounds so casual that it makes Puck shake his head. Plus, her brother's friends are all like, 21, so that's...whatever. "Just humour me."

"I'm hanging up," he growls.

She laughs again. "Feel free to think about me and Rachel on your bed if you have to."

"You're such a bitch." He's not joking. That's fucking cruel.

"Enjoy," she sings.

He hangs up and throws his phone onto the bed next to him. He's so damn hard now. Santana isn't even (really) on his mind. He's just thinking about Rachel. Rachel, in his house. Rachel in her house last night with her hand in her panties (because she _so_ did). Rachel just a little while ago, kissing him on his bed. And okay, he admits the thought of the two girls on his bed like, waiting for him, is pretty fucking hot. He groans and gets up to lock his door.

He doesn't know how, but he's going to get Santana (and Rachel) back for this.

...

When he's walking out of his room, his mom has just woken up and is heading for the stairs. She asks about the girls, and he says they're fine, that he has Rachel watching them.

"Rachel Berry?" she asks, surprised. He shrugs his shoulder and nods. "Oh. That's nice."

He knows there's a lot more she wants to say about it (she knows Rachel's dads from temple), but he kind of loves her for not saying more.

They walk down the stairs and into the living room to see Rachel sitting at the coffee table with the girls across from her, playing some card game. He just kind of watches her as she says hello to his mom. She's playing cards. That's how they got into all in the first place.

"Mom, Shannon says I can go to her house for the night and sleep over!"

Puck seriously wonders what he's done to get this kind of awesome luck. He looks at Rachel, but she's not paying attention to him. He's sure that's on purpose.

"Let me call Shannon's mom, okay?" his mom says. He's never loved her more.

Puck moves through the living room and sits on the sofa behind Rachel. "You losing?" he asks, letting his feet settle on either side of her hips.

He knows it's just going to piss her off to reference the reason she's here in the first place.

"I am not," she says. "It's War. I've clearly got the most cards."

"She cheats!" Hannah cries with a smile.

"I do not cheat!" Rachel gasps. She laughs a little bit.

"I saw you peek at your cards!" Shannon giggles. "That's how you took our two kings."

Rachel lets out a little scoff and puts her hand on her hip as the girls laugh. Puck thinks this is pretty cute, how she's so good with these two munchkins. Better her than him. The three girls are playfully bickering when his mom walks back in the room. Needless to say, he's way more interested in what she's got to say than whether or not Rachel peeks at her cards when she's playing War.

"Go pack a bag," his mom says, and the girls get all excited and run towards the stairs. Rachel is leaning back against Puck's legs, and his mom seems to notice that. "I'll drop them off on my way to work," she tells him.

There is a god.

"Cool," he says.

"Can you fend for yourself for the evening?" she asks as she fusses with her wallet or something. "Here's $20. You can order pizza."

"Got it, mom. Pretty sure I can feed myself," he says. He hates it when she gets all frantic for no reason.

"Can I speak with you in the kitchen for a moment?" she asks. He glances to Rachel quickly and sees that she's totally blushing. She knows what's going to happen as soon as they're alone. He gets up and follows his mom into the kitchen. "Noah, that girl in there..."

"I know, mom. I know."

"If I leave you here and say she can stay..." He doesn't do a very good job of hiding his smile. If the woman knew what he was up against, she wouldn't be so quick to give him the Jewish Mother Guilt Trip Eye. "Noah."

"Seriously, mom. It's cool. I like her," he says quietly.

"You've told me that before."

"No, I mean..." He stops talking, looks to the floor, and he misses the way his mom grins at him.

"You have feelings for her," she says, filling in the blanks. He shrugs one shoulder. (She's thinking he's very cute when he's like this, her boy.) "Just don't be stupid."

He knows what that means. Basically, it means_ 'Don't screw up like you did last year.' _Believe him when he says he won't make that mistake again.

Hannah and Shannon run down the stairs ready to go, and when Puck and his mom walk back into the living room, they see Rachel cleaning up from their 'girls' day'. His mom shoots him an approving glance, and he rolls his eyes. Fuck. He knows how awesome Rachel is already.

Rachel moves towards the door, but his mom stops her. "Stay, honey. I'm sure you and Noah have plenty to talk about."

Rachel looks at Puck like this is the strangest thing, then she glances back at Ms. Puckerman. "I suppose I could stay for dinner."

Puck grins. Yeah. Dinner.

Rachel can tell he's not really paying attention as his mom leaves and Hannah and Shannon say goodbye, thanking Rachel for 'playing' with them for the day instead of having to deal with Noah, who apparently never lets them watch the good movies. She's not necessarily paying as much attention as she could be, either. Noah is standing directly behind her, and she can feel his hand grazing her hip every so often.

She knows what's going to happen as soon as that door is closed.

The thing she's realized is that she can't wait. This is what the week has been leading up to, she knows it. She thinks she _needs_ him. Tonight. As soon as possible. She doesn't think it will be a one time thing, and she's craving him so badly she's willing to throw caution to the wind and just sleep with him anyway. She'll be smart and safe, of course. But she also knows he's feeling things at least close to what she's feeling. She physically needs him, which she's never felt for anyone. She enjoys being around him, wants to make him smile, wants him to make her smile. She cares about him, about his schooling and how he's feeling his ambition, which she's beginning to think they've only really scratched the surface of.

She's 90 per cent sure he feels all that as well, even if it's not his style to admit it.

When the door clicks closed, his hand slides across her hip and she leans back against him a little bit more. When he leans down and kisses the side of her neck, brushing her hair aside, he can feel her pulse beneath his lips. There's something really hot about that.

"We're alone," she says quietly, even as he slips his free hand into hers and weaves their fingers together.

"Mmm. Finally." He'd really, really like to ignore the way her stomach rumbles. Seriously. But it makes him laugh, and she tips her head back against his shoulder. "You're hungry."

"Your mom mentioned pizza and I realized I haven't really eaten all day," she admits guiltily.

"Well let's get some food, then," he says.

He pulls away from her because he knows that they're just going to be interrupted and have to stop what he desperately wants to start. He does not want that. He grabs the phone and dials out. He doesn't know what exactly goes on a vegan pizza, but she's hissing at him that it's what she wants, so he orders half the pizza that way for her. Whatever. She's cleaning up the last of the mess in the living room. He sits down, and when she tries to walk past him, he extends his leg to trap her, then he pulls her down on his lap.

"Noah," she laughs. His hand slips beneath her shirt at the small of her back. She's wearing this little skirt, and his hand on her thigh is hitting skin.

"What?"

She laughs a little harder and drapes one arm over his shoulder. "Don't even try that innocent act on me."

He just grins and leans in to kiss her. His phone goes off in his pocket and it's on vibrate. His mind races when she squirms a little and starts blushing. So many dirty things run through his mind that even when she's moving off him to sit on the other end of the couch, he almost forgets to check the text.

_Dude. Indians/Yanks game. Burnett's pitching. Gonna be crazy! Already 4-4 in the second!_

He and Matt are the two guys who are the biggest baseball fans. He knows this game is going to be nuts. AJ Burnett is a freaking loose canon; so inconsistent. If he's having an off day, it'll be awesome to watch. The Indians fan in him will love it.

"You mind if I turn on the game?" he asks.

"Of course not."

She doesn't, really. She just wishes she wasn't starving and she hadn't had to stop him earlier. Surely, she can control herself a little while longer. How long is a baseball game anyway?

Three and a half hours later, she is not impressed. She didn't know such a thing as extra innings existed. She thinks these two teams are just stupid. How hard is it to just get one home run and end the damn game? Noah is excited, though, because apparently a 16-16 tie is a rarity, but she doesn't really care. At all.

She thought he understood that she didn't stay so they could eat pizza and watch baseball.

He hasn't been ignoring her, not by a long shot. They've talked, and he's joked around with her, and when he told her he wanted a foot massage, she laughed until he put his feet on her lap, then she rolled her eyes and started working her hands over his arches. But he doesn't kiss her and he barely touches her and she is going completely insane being so close to him but not being able to get what she wants from him.

Just before 11:00, he notices the way she's sitting with her arms crossed and her foot bouncing up and down restlessly. She's pissed. He almost smiles. She doesn't hide her emotions very well.

"You're totally bored," he states.

"No!" she answers, far too quickly. "No. It's fine. This is exciting." She pauses, looks over at him. "Right?"

He laughs a little bit and realizes she's sitting far too far away from him. He knows if he has her any closer, he's going to forget about this game, and he really does want to see the end of it. But she's really damn tempting. Too tempting, with her little skirt and her legs all tanned from their time at the pool a couple days ago.

"Actually, if you want, there's something you can do to pass the time," he says. He knows she thinks she's being discreet, but her smile is totally hopeful. "My room's a little bit of a mess."

(No, it's not. There are a couple shirts and maybe a pair of pants draped over his desk chair, but that's it. He's just setting her up.)

She cannot believe him. She cannot believe he's doing this to her. Even if this is just a ploy to get her into his bedroom, which she's fairly certain it is, she's still mad.

All he has to do is ask.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Not really. It's not, like, disgusting or anything, just needs tidying." He grins at her and watches as she huffs in frustration and gets up to march towards the stairs. "Rach."

"Anything else I can do for you?" she asks, hand on her hip.

He smiles and he sees her fighting a grin. "Nope. Pretty sure that's it."

She gives her best scowl (it just turns out being cute) and starts up the stairs.

The Indians have the bases loaded and no outs. This game is going to be over in a matter of minutes.

Then he and Rachel?

Oh, it's _so_ on.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Last chapter. Thank you all so much for reading and leaving feedback!

... ...

About ten minutes after he sends Rachel upstairs, whoeverthefuck the no name, bush league pitcher is the Yanks have working in the 14th inning walks a batter with two out, which sends a run in. It's a shitty way for the Yanks to lose a game, so Puck's feeling particularly smug about it.

And now he's going to go seduce the girl who's been on his mind 90% of the whole week.

Life is good.

Maybe it was cruel of him to watch a game instead of, you know, having sex with her, but he thinks there's a part of him that just needed to know that she'd stick around. He's not needy, okay? He's fucking _not_. He's just got this thing...a complex...because honestly, girls don't like, _like_ him. They like his cock and the fact that he knows how to get them off with skill. That shit is hard to find in high school guys. So it was kind of like a test or something, just to see if she'd actually hang out with him, too, not just fuck him and leave.

He's acting like such a girl. If his mouth wasn't going dry as he walks up the stairs to get to Rachel, he'd question his abilities right now. But yeah, as soon as she gives him the green light, this little game they've been playing? He's gonna win it. And the prize is that they both get really good and fucked.

She's stacking his video games when he walks into the room, and she doesn't bother looking at him. "Did your team win?" she asks, putting the last of the cases on the shelf before turning to face him.

He kind of expected her to be too pissed to actually tidy his room. She didn't really need to, to be honest.

"Yeah. Crazy game." He's distracted by her legs and her ass and the way she has her arms crossed, which is pushing her boobs together and giving her some awesome cleavage.

"Good. I'm glad," she says. "Even if that was the longest, most excruciating sporting event I've ever witnessed."

He laughs a little bit and takes a step towards her. He notices, then, the lighting in the room. It's dimmer than usual, just the bedside lamp on and nothing else. She was totally up here setting the mood.

"Hey," he says, forcing her to look at him again. "Thanks for staying."

She smiles a little and shrugs one shoulder slowly. "I wanted to."

He doesn't think that should make him as happy as it does.

"I wanted you to," he says needlessly. Her smile grows and he thinks that little look does funny things to him, and not even just below the waist. "I like, you know, hanging out with you."

She leans up and kisses him quickly before puling away. "Me too."

Her voice is all quiet and sexy, and he's pretty sure she has no idea what she's doing to him. Seriously. That's so goddamn hot, that she wants him, that she likes him, that she can turn him on so easily. He figures he'll sit down on his bed, because that's where they're both going to be soon anyway.

She's looking at him, the way the muscles of his arms move beneath his shirt sleeve. The lazy, seductive little grin he's wearing. How green his eyes are.

Admittedly, she's glad they're doing this now, at night, alone in his house, instead of...well, basically any other way they could have chosen to do this.

And they _are_ doing this.

"Well, Noah, I'm all yours for another hour," she says coyly, standing at the foot of the bed. Her eyes meet his and he can't believe he's actually here and she's actually saying this shit. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

She's offering herself upon a goddamn platter right now.

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs. He leans back against his headboard and she literally stands there, waiting for further instruction or something. Shit. This is gonna be _fun_.

"Can you?" she asks. She's toying with the bottom of her shirt, lifting it up just a little bit so he catches a glimpse of her stomach.

And he so knows what he wants.

"Strip for me," he says. He knows it sounds far more gruff than he wants it to, but whatever, because he's pretty sure she's going to do it. She bites her lip a little and looks at him through her eyelashes. "Please, Rachel."

She laughs. Bitch. "Are you begging right now?"

"Fuck no," he scoffs. "Just fuckin'...being polite or whatever."

"You don't have a polite bone in your body," she laughs.

Why is she fucking laughing!

"You don't know anything about my bones," he tells her, his brow raised. "I mean, you _could_."

She smiles and shakes her head at him, then pulls her hair from its ponytail. He can't help what that does to him. She's totally going to strip. _God_, this is hot.

"Well?" she asks, walking over to his laptop. She sits down at his desk, which is just all wrong, if you ask him. Way too far away. "Do you have any suitable music, or is it all just that terrible heavy metal and atrocious rap you listen to?"

"Hey now," he says, faking offense. "I've got baby making music."

She glances at him over her shoulder. (Baby making jokes? Not a good idea with this crowd.) "Oh my god!" she cries excitedly. "I can't believe you have this song!"

"What?" he asks. Shit. There's some embarrassing stuff on there, he knows.

"This is so very..._perfect_," she says. She clicks on the song, and for whatever reason, it gives her the confidence to get up and sway her hips just a little bit. Call it the power of Beyoncé. "I can't believe you have this."

He'd be lying if he said he'd never heard the song before or didn't know it was on there. But fuck it. Beyoncé is totally hot, even though she's like, a total Amazon or whatever. (She's married to Jay-Z, which is totally badass.) And what dude doesn't want to hear a song all about how some chick's going to take care of him? Cater 2 U. Whatever. He rocks that shit from time to time. (On headphones. Only on headphones.)

And yeah, since Rachel's been his slave for a week, he supposes it makes sense that she's like, losing her shit over this being perfect. It kind of is.

"Quit teasing," he says from the bed. She's still not naked. It seems very wrong. "Seriously, Rachel. I want you to strip. Clock's tickin'."

She doesn't have to be nervous. She knows that. He wants to see her, and she wants to show him. She's fooling herself if she says she doesn't want this as badly as he does. Well, maybe the stripping thing is more for him than it is for her. She's never stripped before. Sure, she's a dancer and a performer, but this is very different. She's got to try to be sexy.

But then she thinks that usually when people _try_ to be sexy, they fail. She figures if she just moves her hips a little to the music, touches herself (_appropriately!_) and shimmies out of her clothes, that's probably her best bet.

Puck is pretty much frozen in place as he watches her. She's totally fucking dancing for him. This is ridiculous. This shit does not happen in real life! He's such a fucking stud. She's a total tease, too, because she'll pull her shirt up a little, showing inches of her amazing stomach, only to have it fall down again so she can run her hands through her hair or trail her fingertips up and down her arm or something. He's fucking dying to see some skin. When she finally pulls her shirt over her head and drops it onto the floor, he's pretty sure he can't get any harder than he already is. God, he hopes she knows what she's asking for, here. He can't help it if his hand moves to the front of his pants, stroking himself over the material before unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper.

"Noah," she says, like she's getting him in trouble or something. She stops moving. That's just _wrong_. "Don't do that."

"Rachel, please," he scoffs. As if she expects him to just sit there. "You're...and...I'm so fucking hard."

She reaches for the zipper of her skirt at her side and he locks eyes with her. She doesn't know where the confidence comes from (probably his prior statement), but she says something she can't believe she's bold enough to say.

"Well, give me a moment."

He groans and tips his head back. But shit, if he isn't looking at her, he won't see her step out of her skirt. Which she does moments later. She's standing there at the foot of his bed in just a dark purple bra and matching panties, and he's pretty sure that the rest of this week meant absolutely fucking nothing compared to this.

"Get over here," he says. She giggles a little bit as the song switches to another R&B tune. "I'm serious. Get the fuck over here." She reaches behind her first and unhooks her bra, pulling it down over her arms. "Holy shit."

She walks over to the bed, and she honestly has never felt sexier. Noah is the most attractive boy in school (she's not the only girl who thinks so), and he's clearly aroused by her, if the way he's running his hand over the front of his boxers is any indication. She really wishes he'd stop doing that.

Not because she doesn't want him to feel good, but because she wants to be the one making him feel good, and in a more direct way.

So when she gets to him, she tugs at the bottoms of his jeans and he lifts his hips, making her giggle as she pulls them off him. She drops them on the floor and climbs onto the bed, resting one leg on either side of his so she's straddling his thighs. She's just looking at him, and he's had enough of that shit, so he grabs her arms and hauls her towards him, kissing her hard before she can do something stupid like tell him that isn't what she wants just yet. He's pretty sure, given that she's wearing only a pair of super hot panties, she's game for a little making out.

Or a lot. Shit, her tongue is in his mouth.

And her hand is...oh, my god.

"Rachel," he breathes out, breaking the kiss as he arches into her hand. "_Fuck_."

She kisses him again, twisting her wrist and swallowing his groan. "You feel so good," she says.

_He_ feels good?

Well, he _does_ feel good. But...But, she's the one with her hot little hand stroking him just right and...Shit, is that her thumb running over his...

Oh, god.

"Stop," he says, grabbing her wrist. "Stop."

He flips her onto her back and she's totally breathless as he leans into her and kisses her, letting his hand ghost over her thigh, his thumb brushing against her panties. Shit, she's so wet already. How is that even possible? Well, she did totally dance for him, and then they were making out and she had him in her hand, so he figures it's pretty normal for her to, you know, be ready for him to fuck her.

He grabs the sides of her panties and pulls them down her legs without any resistance from her, and just like that, she's naked in front of him. God, why did it take him so long to realize how fucking hot she is? She's seriously perfect. And she doesn't look quite so tiny laying there on his bed. Her legs are endless and her stomach is perfect and, holy shit, she's totally rolling her nipple between her fingers. He steps out of his boxers. Foreplay might not be happening tonight, honestly. He's overcome with the need to be inside her.

He kisses up from her knee to her hip, loving the way she whines when she realizes he's not gonna go down on her. He'll do that later. Another time. Whatever. (If how she's been acting is any indication of how the sex is going to be, there'll probably be another time.)

"You know I'm gonna fuck you, right?" he asks, swiping his tongue across her nipple, making her arch into him.

"Yes," she breathes out. "I know." She catches his lips again, shifts so he's pressed tight against her hip. "Please."

Fuck. This is going way too fast. As bad as he needs to have sex with her (seriously, _needs to_) he's got 45 minutes left, now, that he can boss her around, and given that she's fucking writhing on his bed, he's pretty sure she'll do whatever he tells her to do.

And god, how hot is that?

He pulls away from her and she lets out this sexy little sound, opening her eyes wide to watch him as he sits down in his desk chair and rolls it just a little closer to the bed. Fuck, if he didn't know exactly what he wants right now, it'd be impossible to not be laying down with her. She's totally naked, totally willing. She's practically begging him to fuck her.

He will.

Just not yet.

"Noah," she whines. The grin on his lips has her feeling (somehow) even more naked than she already is. "What?"

"I wanna watch you," he says.

There's something in his voice that she swears makes her blush. She doesn't think she's ever felt more _wanted_. But then she thinks about what he's just said and maybe that's what's making her blush. What he's asking...Gosh, that's something she still has a hard time bringing herself to do when she's alone. She certainly can't do it with someone watching.

"I...I...what?"

"I wanna see you touch yourself, Rach," he tells her. There's so much tension in the room that when she looks at him, his cock twitches. "I wanna see what you do when you're alone."

"Noah, I...I can't."

She's leaning up on her elbows, which gives him an awesome view of her whole body, and he sees the way she's looking him up and down, too. Part of him thinks it's hilarious that they're naked in the same room and he's not touching her.

What the fuck is that about?

Oh. Right.

"You can. And you will," he tells her, raising one brow. "You're still my slave, remember?"

She actually laughs a little, shaking her head. He watches as she bites her lip and looks away from him, like she's thinking about it and isn't sure what she really wants to do. But he knows (he can see) how wet she is, how bad she needs _something_. She lays back against the pillows again and closes her eyes tight, like if she can't see him he won't be there. (She can't believe she's doing this.) He watches as she spreads her legs just slightly, and her hand slides far too slowly down her stomach. She's still hesitating. Even that's somehow sexy.

She can feel his eyes on her, which honestly isn't a surprise, since she's doing this utterly ridiculous thing in front of him, for him. But if she's learned anything at all this week, it's that she actually likes pleasing him. She really does. And as much as she wants to really please him the way they both want, she thinks there's something undeniably sexy about this, too. She can't say she isn't enjoying it, and when she finally touches herself between her thighs, she and Noah both let out little moans at the same time. She can't help but spread her legs wider and cup her breast in her free hand.

He is going to lose his shit. Seriously. He's stroking himself (c'mon, how could he not?) as he watches her rubbing two fingers against herself, drawing the moisture around before focusing on her clit.

He doesn't know how they got here, honestly. He doesn't give a fuck, either.

She slows down, because she'll bring herself to orgasm in about thirty seconds if she's not careful. This, him watching her, hearing him breathing heavily and groaning every so often, it's too much for her.

"Noah," she breathes out as she slips one finger inside herself.

"_Fuck_." He's thinking all sorts of shit right now, and all of it is dirty. He figures he's already got her where he wants her (naked and ready and waiting for him on his bed;_ hell yes_), so he can probably get her to talk. "So fucking hot, Rach." She moans and rolls her hips, drawing her finger out to circle her clit again. "Do you do this at home? Alone?"

"Oh, god," she says. Just the sound of his voice makes her body quake. "Some...sometimes."

"Yeah, you do," he mutters. God, he's so hard right now. This might be the hottest thing he's ever witnessed. And he's witnessed some shit. "You make yourself come? Trying to stay quiet?"

"_Noah_," she moans. He's watching her as she pushes two fingers into herself, flattening her palm on her clit. She has _so_ done this before.

"Open your eyes," he commands. Her head rolls to the side, eyes still closed. "Rachel, open your eyes." When she looks at him, he's surprised he doesn't come in his hand. "Did you do this last night? After we talked? Did you fuck yourself and pretend it was me?"

She's right on the edge. She knows it. She stops moving her hand so quickly, because she knows he'll keep asking until she answers, and she can barely form words when she feels so good.

"Yes," she says desperately. "_Yes_, Noah. _Oh_."

He's sitting next to her on the bed in a heartbeat (fuck, she's amazing), and he bats her hand away. She actually fucking whines, and he swears it's the hottest sound he's ever heard. He grabs her hand, pulling it to his mouth and swirling his tongue around her fingers. She angles her hips off the bed a little bit, and he knows it's fucking mean to leave her hanging like that, so he reaches down and brushes his thumb over her once, twice, a third time, until she's saying his name again. He needs to taste her. More of her. And he's pretty sure he can make her scream if he gets his mouth on her.

He leans down between her legs and he's infinitely happy that she's not one of those girls who's shy about shit like this. Although, really, she can't be shy about much with him right now. He licks a slow line up her center, and her hands are in his hair as soon as he closes his mouth over her clit, sucking gently, then flicking his tongue over it a couple times.

"Noah, I'm...Please. More," she breathes out.

She arches her hips again, pushing herself against him, and he wonders if she can feel him grinning against her. He flicks his tongue a few more times, sucks hard, and then she's falling apart, literally shouting his name, and he rides it out with her, licking her slowly, then fast, then slowly again as she comes down until eventually she pushes him away from her.

She's had orgasms before, obviously, and quite a few of them. She has _never_ had one like _that_. She wants to tell him, but she's certain it would just stroke his ego. He's already looking far too smug, and she's glad her face is already red (she can feel it, how hot her skin is) because she thinks she's blushing over thinking the word 'stroke' right now.

"Damn, baby," he chuckles, leaning over to kiss her. She almost pulls away, not wanting to taste herself on him, but he doesn't let her. "That almost made _me_ come."

She's still breathing heavily, looking at him through heavy lids, and he runs his finger over her gently. She jerks away. "Stop," she whispers. "Don't. I can't...Just wait."

He grins and kisses her shoulder, across her collar bone to her neck. "Got it good, didn't you?"

"I didn't think that would be so...so...erotic." He laughs as he rolls her nipple between his fingers, watching her eyes fall closed, then open again.

"How could you not think that'd be erotic? 'S'fuckin' hot as hell," he tells her.

He kisses her again and he's pretty impressed with how quick she is to slip her tongue into his mouth. God, she's got a good mouth.

Actually...

"Suck me off."

Her jaw drops. (Is that an invitation?)

"Noah, that's...you're so terrible," she says, but she's practically laughing, so he figures she means it in a _'You're terrible, but I can't wait for you to fuck me stupid' _way.

"Less talking."

He knows the look he gives her is a dirty one. And she's shaking her head as she sits up, then kisses him, moves down his body, swirling her tongue around a nipple. Jesus Christ, he had no idea this kind of sexual energy was in this girl. He might have met his match. Honestly, if the actual sex is as good as the foreplay, he might die. Seriously. _Die_.

But then her tongue is circling his head and he's thinking, _Fuck. Whatever. Bring it on_. He can think of worse ways to go.

She takes him in her mouth and he groans, fisting his hands in her hair. Fuck, it's soft. He can't say he hasn't thought about slipping his hands in it before. And she looks fucking amazing, positioned between his legs, ass in the air, his dick in her mouth. Goddamn. And then she scrapes her teeth just lightly along him and he pulls her hair a little.

"Fucking dangerous," he mutters, and she literally _giggles_. She's giving him head and she _giggles_. Amazing. "_Fuck_, Rachel."

Then she meets his eyes as she takes him deeper, looking down just as he hits the back of her throat, and he doesn't even know what he says, but he knows he says something. When she swallows around him, his hips jerk and he pulls her off him, and she_ licks her lips_.

She knows why he stopped her. Not that she's had a lot of different boys (two...now three) but they tend to all react the same way when she does that. She thinks it's something not many boys get to experience. She's prouder than she should be about that particular skill.

"What?" she asks innocently. He just raises his brow. _Seriously? _

"I'd fucking come in your mouth right now, but..."

"You could," she says, hand trailing down his chest. "If you want to."

"_Goddammit_," he mumbles, batting her hand away when she reaches for his cock. Seriously. The girl is crazy. He'll lose his shit and be useless for a while if she touches him any more right now. "Some other time."

He's waiting for her to tell him this is just a one time only thing. He wouldn't really be surprised. Well, fuck, that's not true. All of this is surprising. In the best fucking way possible.

"Okay," she says right before she kisses him. _Oh, my god_. "What now?"

Oh, she's good.

"You're a quick study," he tells her, laughing as he reaches down between her legs. Still soaking wet. "Fuck."

"_Noah_." She arches against his hand.

"Now I'm gonna fuck you. So hard," he says, pushing her onto her back. She's kissing him as he reaches for a condom from his bedside table (because as much as he'd like to do this bareback, he's not an idiot, and now's not the time to discuss BC). She locks her legs around his waist and presses her hips against his. "Rachel. Christ. You're fuckin' _intense_."

"Is that a good thing?" she asks, watching as he tears open the wrapper with his teeth. She should not need him inside her as badly as she does right now. She thinks she might scream if he takes any longer than thirty seconds.

"Hell yeah," he laughs. She's kissing his neck, running her hand over his back as he slips the condom on blindly. He literally has to push her away just to double check it. He grabs one of her thighs, pushing her open wider for him, and she takes him in her hand. That's fuckin' teamwork. He pushes into her hard and she lets out this guttural sound. "_Fuck_."

She doesn't say anything, just kisses him hard until he can't breathe anymore. He hasn't even moved yet, and he's pretty sure he could come in about ten seconds. She doesn't really seem to mind. He wonders if she's like, hurt or something, or if he's too big (fuck yeah) for her to just take everything he's got. And honestly, it's not so bad to just lay here on top of her, inside her, and let her kiss him. She's tight as hell, like the best kind of glove or something.

But then she rolls her hips, and his head falls to her shoulder because she might be ready, but he, embarrassingly, isn't. He puts his hand on her hip, hoping to not have to tell her that he's two seconds away from losing it, but she clenches her muscles around his shaft instead.

"Fuck. _Stop_," he growls. He closes his eyes tight and kisses her, distracting her from their position while he wills himself to _calm the fuck down, Puckerman. Shit. This isn't the first time you've fucked a girl. Get it together. _

She whines when he pulls away, and he smirks. Fuck. Finally, he's got things under control enough to pull out slowly, then push back in sharply, making her let out that fucking hot sound again. He could just close his eyes and listen to her and probably get off.

Of course, he's not going to.

But he _could_.

"Damn, baby," he mutters as she trails her fingernails over the back of his neck. How does she know he loves that shit? "You wanted this so bad, didn't you? You've wanted me to fuck you." She whimpers a bit, so he pulls out almost completely (fucking kills him to do it) and she pushes the small of his back, angling her hips. "How bad did you want it?"

"Noah, stop," she says. He smirks at her, running his hand through her hair. She's already a little sweaty.

He inches back into her, then out again. Fuck, she's hot. "Tell me what I want to hear. Say it."

She can't handle this. She's so frustrated. She doesn't know how he's doing this. She's already had an orgasm, and he hasn't. His restraint would be admirable if it wasn't infuriating. And since she's already relinquished all her inhibitions this evening, she figures she can do something to encourage him to stop teasing her so cruelly. She pulls one hand off his back and slips it down between them, her knuckles brushing his pelvis as she touches herself.

He grabs her wrist quickly and pulls her arm up over her head, holding it against the pillow. "Don't fuckin' think so."

"I'm dying."

"You're..." She lifts her hips, taking him further inside. "Fuck," he says, laughing softly. _She's perfect._ "You're fucking dramatic."

"You're mean!"

He kisses the tip of her nose. "You just want me." He thrusts his hips, filling her completely. "Tell me how bad you want me."

"So bad," she says as he begins moving, far too slowly. She wonders if he does this with every girl before realizing that's a really strange thought to have while he's inside her. "So bad, Noah, I want...I wanted this last weekend."

Jackpot. That's what he wanted to hear. He's been thinking about fucking her since Saturday night. He's glad she feels the same.

"Tell me what you want, baby," he says, weaving their fingers together over her head.

"Faster," she pants.

"You want me to fuck you?" He's hard as fuck, and she's so wet, so tight around him, and seriously, this shit is golden. He doesn't think he's ever had sex this hot.

"Yes," she breathes out. "_Yes_, Noah."

He bites down on her earlobe and she arches her back, lets out a moan. "Say it."

He's so incredibly cruel. She'll do anything at this point to get him to just move faster, harder, anything to rid her of this ache.

"God!" she cries in frustration. "Fuck me, Noah. _Please_."

He's just gotten Rachel Berry to say _fuck_. He thinks he should reward her for that shit.

He lets go of her hand, brings his down her body and hooks his arm under her thigh, spreading her wide (shit, she's flexible) and pushing him deeper. She feels so fucking good. And the way she's digging her fingers into his shoulder blade, squeezing his ass with her other hand, he's pretty sure she's digging this too. How could she not? This is seriously the hottest hookup he's ever had. He's pretty much always in control. Always. But this is a whole other level. Him getting to call every single shot and push her past her limits without freaking her the fuck out. And god, does he love that he can make her do that.

She doesn't know how one person can be so good at sex. Really, she's never had bad sex. It's always been enjoyable for her. She's liked it. But this? This is something completely different. This is...it's _transcendent_. It's like she can feel every millimeter of him, every breath, every single movement he makes. She doesn't even know if she's _thinking_ about _any_thing. She's just _feeling everything_.

And maybe it's silly, but she loves his rhythm. It's mesmerizing.

Then she notices the sheen of sweat on his skin, how his lips are just slightly parted, and she thinks maybe as good as he is, he's only better with her. She might be making it up. She doesn't care, mostly because he's hot and thick inside her, pressing against her just right, and all she can do is breathe out his name and a series of sounds she'd chastise herself for were the situation any different.

"So good," he murmurs, lips against her cheek, slipping down the line of her jaw, across her pulse. "Fuck. Amazing."

"I know," she whispers, chuckling softly.

He pulls away, which gives him a fucking stellar view of her chest, shoulders, neck, all sweaty, and it inches him that much closer to the end. Fuck, he wants to hold out as long as possible.

"Are you laughing?" he asks, slowing his movements. She mewls and her eyes flutter closed.

"Don't stop," she pleads breathlessly. "Please, don't stop." He's sure he's way further along than she is, which isn't really weird. "I like it fast."

Holy.

Shit.

Amazing.

And she wants fast? He'll give her fast. He just really hopes he can get her off before he comes, because fuck. He's totally holding back right now. She lets out a high note she'd probably be proud of if she could think straight when he starts moving faster, harder. Her nails are raking down his back, sure to leave marks, but he doesn't give a shit. That's fucking hot, a reminder that he had her like this. God, he loves her like this.

(He doesn't even correct himself in his head. Call it a haze of sex and impending orgasm.)

Enough of this shit. He's got stamina in spades, but he needs to see her come again, and fuck, he wants her to take him with her.

He slips his hand down her body, running his thumb over her clit, and she arches her back. "You gonna come for me?" he asks, teasing her lips. She leans up, trying to kiss him, but he pulls away, looks down. _Fuck_, this is hot. "Answer."

He's pretty sure it's really fucking close to midnight, which means he'll no longer be able to boss her around. He's taking advantage of that shit, even if none of it really matters in the grand scheme of things.

"Yes." She moans and her hand comes to rest on the back of his neck, nails scraping his skin. "_Yes_." She doesn't think she's ever talked so much during sex. And that's saying something, because, well, she talks pretty much all the time. Maybe that's what compels her to look into his eyes and say, "I want you to come, Noah. I want to feel you."

"Fuck," he growls. This shit needs to happen right fucking now. He kisses her hard and she meets him thrust for thrust, moaning intermittently when he thumbs her clit just the right way. He makes a mental note and does it again and again, and she says his name brokenly. "_Fuck_, Rachel."

He's kissing her neck and she literally licks his ear (in the hottest fucking way _ever_). He jerks his hips sharply and she swears he's finding places inside her that no one's ever even come close to. He sucks at her pulse point a little bit, and she's totally caught off guard by how fast, how hard, she comes. She doesn't think she's ever been so inside her own body. She knows she's saying his name, and then his hand is gripping her hip, he's swelling inside her, and she's pretty sure she yells a little too loudly as he grounds out her name, his entire body going rigid.

She's still shaking when he collapses on top of her, which is almost painful, since he's just had literally the best orgasm of his life and he's fucking _spent_. Feeling her shuddering around him is still pretty awesome though.

"_Ohmygod_," she breathes out. Her breath is ragged, she's sweaty, she's sure her hair is a disaster, and he's kind of heavy on top of her. And she's fairly certain that if he moves again, she might fall apart. Really, if he touches her right now, she'll probably come again. After a minute of just laying there, he pulls back a bit, carefully starting to pull out. "Wait. Wait."

It's too late, though, and she feels another orgasm (how, she's not even sure) rushing through her. She's clutching his arm, eyes closed tight until she's herself again.

"Did you just...?" he asks, still perched over her, smirking lazily. Fuck, he's tired. She nods and he kisses her as she rests her hand over her heart. "Damn, that's amazing."

He ties the condom off and tosses it into his trash can (conveniently placed near the bed) and flops onto his back next to her.

"That was...it was..."

He looks over at her, makeup a little smudged, hair sticking to her forehead, little red mark on her neck. "Fucking electric, baby," he tells her. She sighs, gives him a satisfied smile, and then closes her eyes. "I'm tired."

"Typical," she laughs. He scoffs and looks over at her, eyes still closed. "Men always fall asleep right after, don't they?"

He chuckles and turns on his side, running his hand over her hip. Her eyes fly open. "Only 'till we're ready to go again." She rolls her eyes, kisses him quickly, and stands from the bed, gathering her hair in her hands and letting it fall down her back. God, her body is amazing. The curve of her hips, the dimples at the small of her back, and her ass? Forget it. All those are very good reasons why she should not be out of his bed yet. "Where're you going?"

She reaches for her panties, pulls them on and looks for her bra. "Home."

"Why?" he asks, brow furrowed. She can't leave. He doesn't want her to.

She looks at him and he looks just this side of pathetic. It's kind of adorable (if someone who did to her what he just did can ever be considered adorable). "I thought..."

"Wrong." He catches her wrist and lays back down, pulling her onto the bed. "Stay," he murmurs against her cheek, pulling her against him. She just nods. (Her heart is absolutely racing.) And he hooks his beneath the waistband of her panties at her hip. "These gotta go."

"Noah," she giggles.

"C'mon. Sleeping naked is the best after sex," he says. He makes it sound rather convincing.

She turns her head to look at the clock. "It's 12:06. I don't have to listen to you anymore."

"No," he says smugly. "But you're gonna." She can't deny it. His eyes are locked with hers as he pulls the garment down her legs. She kicks them off and onto the floor as he grabs a blanket to cover them. "Fuck, you feel so good," he murmurs, pulling her right up against him, his thigh between hers.

He likes cuddling. Naked cuddling is even better.

She doesn't say anything, but she's thinking that he's made for her somehow. She smiles to herself when she notices his breathing even out, runs her fingers through the short hair above his ear. When she falls asleep, their hands are joined on her hip.

...

A couple weeks later, they're in her bedroom, totally undressed and laying in her bed after a little 'We're Officially A Couple' sex. (Seriously, if he'd known the sex would be that good, he wouldn't have waited two weeks to have that conversation. She's the one who initiated it, but whatever.) Rachel has told him she really likes it when he plays with her hair, and he didn't even realize he did it so much until she told him. So he's running his fingertips over her scalp lightly as she lays there next to him. Her hand is over his on his chest and she's idly running her fingers over his.

"You should let me give you a manicure," she says, smiling when he scoffs immediately.

"We've been over this."

"Please?" she asks. She pulls away a little bit and pouts. "You might like it."

"Rachel, no," he insists. He tries to make her lay down again, but she gets up off the bed and pulls his tee shirt over her head. It's a good look for her. _Really_ good look. He'd worry she's pissed, but she's still smiling. "What are you doing?"

She grabs a deck of cards from her desk drawer and walks over to the bed again. "I'll play you for it," she says, and he swears she's the sexiest woman he knows.

He lets her shuffle, then deal.

Later, when he's got one hand soaking in a bowl of warm water and she's trimming his cuticles or whatever the hell she's doing, he at least makes her put on a baseball game so he feels like less of a loser.

Rachel thinks he's faking. He definitely can't dislike this as much as he's letting on. Manicures feel wonderful, especially the massage part (she's had enough manicures that she knows the best techniques). And she's caught him a couple times, glancing down at his hand as she works on it. She knows he'll never admit to liking this even a little.

And really, she's sure he knows better than to complain about this one little thing after everything he put her through during that week when she was 'his'.

She's still his, now, just in a different way. She smiles when she thinks of it, leans forward and kisses him unexpectedly, and he just smirks and raises his brow at her, saying something about her not being able to resist him.

If he only knew.

He's pretty sure letting her do this is going to pay off for him. He knows she's got a thing for his hands as it is. They are pretty awesome (and he can do even better things with them) so he can't really blame her for that.

(And he most definitely didn't _let_ her win that poker game. Absolutely not.)

_**-Fin-**_


End file.
